Ghosts of the Federation
by SmoothPapaJ
Summary: Captain Charlotte Brant has to hold her little ship and its ragtag crew together for a perilous run through Rebel space. They're the best that the Federation has to offer, which says something about the sorry state of the Federation. CHAPTER 12: Despite warnings of the ancient evil stirring there, the Kestrel arrives in the Magna Sector. As usual, everything goes to hell.
1. Chapter 1

Captain Brant looked at her data slate again, then back at the weapons. A bead of sweat ran down her from her forehead despite the cold, clinging damp of the slug ship. The cargo hold of Slokkran's vessel functioned as his store room, with shimmering, well-maintained weapons materials lining arranged neatly by variety, strength, and condition. She needed to make up her mind, and quickly, or she knew that indecision would cost her. Nobody drove a harder bargain than a slug, especially when this one could literally feel her indecision and the desperation behind it.

She scratched at the scars where her left eye used to be, then fidgeted with the patch. Damn it, she needed to get a hold of herself. "Thoughts, 8?" she asked.

Commander 78 nodded, the servo motors in his neck whirring just audibly. "Ion and laser systems both outdated and in need of replacement. Suitable upgrades in arms dealer's stock, but barter material on Kestrel sufficient only for purchase of one system." The engi looked over at Slokkran. The slug was softer, smaller, and more jovial than the slugs who flanked him, two silent, muscular bodyguards, but something in the way he carried himself warned Brant that he was the most dangerous one in the room. "Curious. Is term 'arms dealer' considered pejorative?"

"Not at all," Slokkran said. "It isss important for one to take pride in one'ss profession." Like all slug speech, the words entered Brant's mind directly, never passing her ears. It had always seemed strange how slugs all seemed to have the same speech impediment when they didn't even technically have speech.

"And that was a summary, Commander. I was looking for advice."

"Entering Rebel space within the month; current laser batteries insufficient against Rebel-model shields, current engine output insufficient to flee engagements. Need upgrades to all weapons systems to survive – cannot choose. Perhaps desperate circumstances justify expansion of moral parameters." The engi commander's face screen glittered mischievously."Enthusiastically recommend sale of engineer Katarek into especially demeaning, ruinous form of slavery in exchange for weaponry. Acceptable?"

Slokkran drew back. "I hope that my honored guesssts do not suggest that humble Ssslokkran deals in ssslaves!" he cried, deeply hurt. "If, on the other hand, my honored guessts were to _negotiate_ for this 'Katarek' to work as a, say,_ '_voluntary labor consultant', and to extend this service contract for an indefinite term, then gentle Slokkran's conscience could rest easy."

Brant frowned at 78. "We are not selling Katarek into slavery."

78 did not seem to hear. "Certain to fetch high price. Mantis female, extensive experience with close quarters combat and shielding systems. Knowledgeable of FTL ships and outer sector pirate culture. At high end of top quartile of sexual attractiveness. Certainly worth both systems, and we get worse end of deal" he insisted.

"We are _not _selling Katarek into slavery," Brant said.

"And top quartile? I think that's an exaggeation," Ensign Toh said in his slow, creaking voice over their earpieces. He was at the helm on the Kestrel in their absence, listening through an open channel with orders to act if the trade went poorly.

"Slokkran places great faith in your appraisal, master engi, but the labor conssultant market is sssaturated with mantis lately. You give me the mantis _and _the metals that you offered earlier in exchange for both sssystems, and you may boassst that you got the better of shrewd Slokkran in your trade."

"There, happy? We can't even get a good deal for her," Brant said.

"Indeed. Worth a try," 78 said, a hint of disappointment in his voice synthesizer.

"I'm sure we can work something out, though," Brant said. She turned away from the weapons on the wall to face the slug and his guards fully. She bowed lightly – this tactic hadn't worked the last five times, so she had to at least put on a good show if there was any shot. "Gracious Slokkran, as captain of a Federation vessel, I am authorized to extend to you a Federal bond of up to one million credits, to be paid out to you with interest over a period of…"

The slug captain held up one frail yellow arm to interrupt her. "Regretful Slokkran must remind the beautiful Federation captain of three things." He sounded a lot more mocking to her than regretful. "First, that he is a weapons merchant of dubiouss legitimacy and unlikely to receive funding from your prestigiouss and legally sstringent government. Second, that businesses of such dubiouss legitimacy as mine, even run by ssuch upstanding merchants as piouss Slokkran, must insist on full payment upfront. And third…"His tone grew smug and vicious; if the slug had a recognizable mouth, she'd have wanted to beat the idiot grin off his face. "…third, that your Federation is dead. It is a stinking corpse beset with scavengers, and you are just a bit of its putrefying remains." The slug burbled and swayed, luxuriating in its insult. "Yes, the excreta of your simian bowels carry more value than the grandest promise from your treasurers."

Brant clenched her teeth. Her first instinct was to reach for her pistol and turn the pompous slug into so much pompous confetti, and judging by the angry flickering of 78's face screen, his reaction was similar. It was two on three, though, and 78 had never been much in a fight besides. It would not be reasonable to start a fight they couldn't hope to win, she knew that. She had to try to find a peaceful solution.

"These putrefying remains have two laser batteries and an ion array armed, charged, and ready to fire at my mark. Asshole Slokkran would be wise to moderate his speech," Captain Brant growled. Reasonable solutions had never been her strong suit, as the patch over her eye could attest.

The slug captain nodded without fear, acknowledging, dismissing. 78's screen flickered again. "Captain, the slug vessel's shields and armament are more advanced than we had predicted," he whispered.

Brant turned to 78 with a withering glare…and a wink. 78 shut up promptly, whirring slightly in concern. Things were apparently going to get dicey. There had always been a chance that things would go south, but they'd planned several contingencies, each shakier than the last: they'd try honest barter, then they'd try to grease the wheels with a threat or two, and if things got really bad from there, they'd have Katarek and Ensign Toh teleport over and clean up the mess. No one but Katarek liked this option very much – the slugs could telepathically sense the Kestrel's whole crew, and they'd be accordingly impossible to surprise.

"It is still my intention, Slokkran, that we resolve this peacefully and fairly. We will offer you the scrap metals and the parts that we offered originally, as stated, in exchange for both…"

"Beneficent Slokkran is certain that our negotiations will resolve peacefully, have no fear. The Federation-ssstandard Mark II batteries on your vessel are fine weapons indeed. Valuable now, and sure to become rare now that your Federation is but a dissgusting corpsssse. They will likely increase in value even further, then, as the security issues in their design are lossst to memory."

This comment was apparently a signal. The bodyguards hefted their pistols, one aimed squarely on Brant and the other on 78. Before she could decide whether to submit, negotiate, or go down in a blaze of glory, a bit of clarifying bad news came over the earpiece.

"Captain, this is Ahabzara," said the weapons engineer, his voice serene as ever despite the blaring klaxons in the background. "Laser batteries have gone offline, and the console does not respond to my commands. Initial diagnostics suggest that the slug vessel is exploiting a heretofore unknown security flaw in the batteries to remotely disrupt the system."

"That's some good diagnosing, Ahab, really great. Stand by for more bad news," Brant said. She and 78 had raised their hands, and the slug guards had approached them. "I suppose this is the part where you give us your demands?"

Toh came on over the earpiece. "Bridge to Away Team. Setting auto-pilot, and making way to transporter. Forming rescue team and boarding slug vessel in three minutes. Keep them occupied."

"So cooperative! Excellent! I believe that your time on your corpse-fly ship has given you great experience in surrendering to superior foes, so triumphant Slokkran should not be surprised. The radiant captain and her industrious commander will of course draw their sidearms and place them, slowly, on the ground, where they will of course proceed to kneel down with their hands behind their heads."

78 groaned. "Further advice, Captain: delegate future diplomatic operations to other, calmer officers."

Brant had a lot to say to this as she and her first officer laid down their arms and knelt down as ordered. First on this list "I'll delegate my foot into your ass," followed by "Oh, God, we're gonna' die, we're gonna' die, oh my God," neither of which were becoming of a Federation officer. She might also have said that things were still going according to plan, but she tried to avoid even thinking this; the Federation had never understood the exact limits of slug telepathy, but she didn't want to give the game up too soon if they really could read minds. She focused on the "We're all gonna' die" line of thinking.

"N-noted, Mr. 78," she stammered. Her training kicked in automatically, ordering her lungs to take long, deep breaths and suppressing the onset of panic, but she knew she'd need a convincing performance to fool this crowd. She focused, keeping her breaths short and irregular, letting her lower jaw shake. "M-m-merciful Slokkran, please, oh God, please don't kill us."

While she barely understood the slugs' psychic talents, she understood their ideas of mercy very well. Captain Andrews used to say that you should throw yourself on a plasma flare before you throw yourself on a slug's mercy. At least the flare would kill you quickly.

"Captain, you honor me in your supplication, and Slokkran's heart is moved. And master engi, you must not be so hard on your commanding officer – if I had the ability to render your craft helpless while its officers were in my custody, surely you realize that this was my intention from the beginning. Ohh." The slug swished side to side, gurgling a great deal, before sliding forward to the two of them. "Oh, yes. Cunning Slokkran intends to profit richly from this, but have no fear, sweet captain – I will simply accept a small offering from you, and then leave you to go on your way in peace, yes?"

She bowed vigorously, purposely hitting her forward against the cold, moist deck as she did so – the pain, she hoped, would add one more bit of static to keep her mind hard to read. "Oh, thank you, thank you. You…you are gracious, and beautiful, and…and…" She inched forward, gently taking one of Slokkran's spindly arms and kissing the many-digited protuberance that she guessed was the slug version of a hand. "Name it, name the offering, oh, thank you…" As planned, the experience was disgusting enough to bring tears to her eyes. The illusion was complete.

"Shields to Away Team, I have set the system to automatic, and currently en route to transport room. Beaming aboard with Ensign Toh in two minutes," Katarek's clicking, hissing voice whispered into Brant's earpiece.

78 stared on disapprovingly, betraying no emotion at all. "Surely bad business, though. If arms dealer robs customers, future customers less eager to do business."

"Even Slokkran's most trusting customers, present company excluded, maintain healthy caution. Even his most idiotic patrons, present company excluded, realize that he must replenish his stock somehow. Besides…" He took his hand away from Brant and gently brushed the side of her face; it was like having a loving caress from a rotten chicken wing. He continued as if speaking to a child. "Your vessel bears the colors of your government, infirm and incontinent in its deathbed, and it is poorly equipped at that. Do I let you leave, knowing that some other will surely show less mercy and profit as a result, profit off of what belong justly to fortunate Slokkran? Any captain with half a nerve net would do the same and worse. Now, Captain Brant…may I call you Charlotte?"

She ground her teeth_. This piece of garbage thinks that…_but no, she had to stay in character, she couldn't afford to get carried away with angry thoughts. "Of course, great Slokkran. Please, name what you want, and will…"

"We will gratefully accept the gift of your Mark IIs, along with your ion array, ten units of jump-grade engine fuel, and the crates of raw materials mentioned earlier. We will inspect those for quality, of course," Slokkran said. "Ahhh. And your beautiful mantis engineer, this 'Katarek.' Yes, that will be quite enough."

78 whirred and clicked. "No. No. Too much. No. Not enough fuel to pay ransom and safely leave slug space, only offensive weapons, need scrap for other purposes, no." It was hard to hear emotion in an engi's voice, but she'd been in enough scrapes with 78 to hear the fear there now. She hoped the slugs didn't miss it, either.

"Away Team, we are in B-corridor, approaching the transporter. Await our arrival in one minute," Katarek said. She paused, then said louder, "Assuming the rest of the boarding team can be bothered to show a little _hustle_!"

" Away Team, I'm running as fast as I damn well can. Hang in there," Toh said, noticeably aggravated.

Brant pretended she wasn't hearing any of this. "They're going to kill us, you idiot! Just do it!" she screamed at 78. In point of fact, the slugs were going to kill them anyway. Slokkran didn't want to blow up the Kestrel when he could get it dismantled by hand and given to him piece by pristine, market-condition piece, but it would be bad business to let the crippled ship slink away to die elsewhere and become some other captain's bounty of scrap. Best case scenario, Brant and her crew would be allowed to return to the Kestrel only to find their bridge and life support systems bombarded with ion charges until they'd all suffocated. Worst case, the slugs would order them off the ship one by one and sell them to slavers.

"And I must note, of course, that I have ordered my gunner to open fire if any of your crew so much as sets foot in your transporter room. My people are well-armed and combat trained, and Slokkran, whose heart bleeds, would hate for your valiant crew to die in some ill-thought-out last stand," Slokkran said. "What a terrible waste that would be. Yes, Charlotte my sweet, the two you have entering your teleporter would be wisely ordered to stand down and prepare the tribute instead."

For just a moment, Brant didn't have to fake the panic. She had to think, she had to collect her thoughts…

"Um…" she said. She raised her hand to her earpiece, as if it hadn't been on this whole time. She congratulated herself on how realistically she was making her hand shake with fear, telling herself it was still all an act. "Uh, Toh, Katarek…stand down. They're watching you, and they're going to wreck the ship if you try come over."

There was a pause. "So what's the plan?" Toh asked.

"There _is _no fracking plan!" No plan _yet_, she told herself. She just had to think, there had to be some way of this…but she'd need to distract the slugs so they wouldn't monitor those thoughts too closely.

"Oh, don't tell me we're just going to belly-up like this. Not to fracking slugs!" Katarek whined.

"That is the plan exactly," 78 said. "Captain Brant demonstrates exceptional leadership and astonishing control of emotions under stress as usual. Mm. No. Sarcastic. Captain humiliates herself, throws self at slugs like wounded baby animal. Disgusting." Again, the emotions were subtle, barely there, but this was as hateful as she'd ever heard the engi sound. It hurt, even when mitigated by his next statement: "It is like Sheratan IV all over again. Disgraceful. Humiliating."

"Oh, such hate! Oh, you mustn't be so hard on each other, particularly not when patient Slokkran awaits his tribute," Slokkran said.

That was a good sign. The slug had missed the hidden message. Sheratan IV had been near her finest fracking hour, outgunned and outmanned by a Rebel bomber, but forcing their surrender regardless in a brutal melee after setting nearly the whole bomber on fire. That had been where she'd lost the eye. 78 still had faith in her, then, and he wanted the others to keep it, too. She couldn't let them down, but damn it she needed time to think!

She turned off the two-way communicator in her ear. She got up from her knees, slowly, the guard inching forward with his pistol forward in a warning stance. Then she rounded on Commander 78 and punched him in the face, just to the left of his face screen where there was still a bit of supple organic tissue. The servos in his neck squealed as his head swung to the side, and in the moment of distraction she grabbed the engi by the shoulders and slammed him to the floor face-down.

"Sheratan IV was _not my goddamn fault_, you damn idiot robot!" Brant screamed. The guards kept their pistols trained on them, but there was a look of satisfaction on the slugs' face. Slokkran chortled and slapped his arms together like a seal, and she hoped that they would focus enough on this physical conflict to leave her some privacy in her mind.

They had no weapons. 78 was the only one who might feasibly be able to block out their remote interference, but there was no way to get him back to the ship, bad odds he could even get the lasers online, and worse odds that they would win the ensuing fight with their well-armed foe.

"Ever since Andrews gave me the command instead of you, you've been on my fracking back every single minute!" she shouted, kicking the engi in the chest.

So a gunfight was out. They could grab their pistols and try to make a stand here, but she and the feeble cyborg were no match for two trained, armed guards, and she guessed Slokkran was no pushover himself. A straight fight there and then was not a viable option.

78 pushed himself up at looked up at Brant. She hoped the jerking movement of his neck was part of the act, not actual damage she'd caused him. "Captain Andrews conferred command to you while bleeding out and suffocating from lung failure. Present circumstances confirm suspicions that his decision was not made in his usual good judgment. Captain Charlotte Brant is disgrace to Federation, disgrace to Captain Andrews' memory, disgrace to her crew, and... "

Brant cried out in anger that was only half feigned, kicking the Engi again in the chest and flipping him onto his back.

The only option they had, really, was to get reinforcements. Toh and Katarek were dynamite fighters, and even if only one of them could get on board, that would turn the fight to their favor. But the slugs were watching – they couldn't actually see what was happening on the Kestrel, Brant knew that much about their gifts, but they could at least sense lifeforms and feel where they were. How could they sneak a boarder into the transporter against detection like that?

"And you? You think you'd have done a better job, you little metal monkey? You have no soul and you have no heart, and the crew would have mutinied and eaten you alive!" She straddled the prone commander, pulling him up by the shoulders to look her in the face. "You're just a brain, that's all. Just a stupid metal brain, and that's just not enough to win a fight, _is it_?"

78's breath was ragged and labored, and he made no attempt to resist her. "Andrews…should have left you in a stasis pod…and left you adrift."

Of course. She almost kissed the stupid cyborg. It was so simple.

"Slokkran does so enjoy this little drama, but if we could move things along…"

Brant pushed 78 to the ground and stood up. "Of course." She reactivated her communicator, opening a channel to Toh and Katarek. "Ensign, this is Captain Brant. Katarek is not on this line, and I need you to listen very carefully."

There was a pause. "Actually, captain, I'm pretty sure Katarek is still…"

"That's right, she's not on this line. Do not do anything to make her suspicious – she is part of the price that Slokkran is demanding," Brant said.

"Captain, I think your communicator may be malfunctioning. Katarek is right here with me and she can clearly hear…"

"It's a _ploy_, you moron!" Katarek hissed.

"I need you two to decouple the laser and ion systems, and ready them for transport to our coordinates on the slug vessel along with all available scrap materials. I have promised Slokkran 200 units, so make sure to gather everything available, including the materials we found in the Hierophant sector."

A pause. Katarek came in over the line, sounding satisfied. "Oh, those materials will be there, captain. Count on it."

"After she'd helped you load the material, subdue Katarek and prepare her for transport. Catch her off guard and knock her out, but do not kill her, repeat, do not kill her. They want her alive. Place her and all materials for transport in the cargo bay; I'll be giving Slokkran those coordinates for his teleporter. You have ten minutes. Brant, out."

And then they got to waiting. It was going to be a hard ten minutes keeping her plan off her mind, but she'd managed so far. She walked over to 78, willing to beat on him some more – either they'd be at their medbay soon or they'd be dead anyway – before Slokkran spoke up.

"You're thinking of your mantis woman," the slug said. "Ah. You are thinking she will emerge from her alleged submission and tear us apart, rescuing you and your carrion ship. It must be odd, Slokkran supposes, for a Federation vessel to be placing its hopes on a mantis, but such are the times. Inform your ensign that he is to kill the mantis instead."

Brant didn't move. That was her ace in the hole, that was the only chance she'd had and it was gone. It wasn't really a problem anyway, her life signs would have to be masked anyway, but she couldn't think like that – Katarek had been her last chance, and if she acted like she'd just blown it, it would be a sufficient cover for thinking about it.

"Toh, new orders," she eventually said, trying to sound defeated. "Kill Katarek."

"Captain?" Toh asked.

"Are you deaf, ensign? Kill the mantis. Don't you dare get all bold and try to bluff them, either. They can feel our life signs."

"Roger," Katarek said. "I humbly submit to my violent and surely deserved end. I only regret that…damn it, Toh, it's still a ruse! Put the chair down!"

Brant turned off her communicator. Within a few moments, Slokkran reared up, massaging himself with his spindly arms as he cooed disgustingly. "Oh, the Mantis female! Yes, yes, the heart rate slows, slows…the brain waves grow fainter and fainter…and ah! Ah! Ahaha!" He giggled. "Oh, my. My condolences, master engi, sweet Charlotte. No doubt the galaxy is colder, uglier place for dear Katarek's loss. Let us conclude our business quickly so that you may conduct whatever funerary services the departed would have best appreciated, yes?"

"Of course, gracious Slokkran," Brant said. "Away Team to Weapons. Ahab, report to the cargo hold to assist ensign Toh."

The minutes passed. 78 righted himself and stood next to Brant, a pace or two further than before. Brant tried to keep herself focused on the situation instead of the plan, but if her mind wondered to tragic Katarek and the now-faint possibility of her rescuing them, what could be suspicious about that?

The first few boxes of scrap material began materializing soon, as quickly as Slokkran's transporter could recharge. Some crates contained mostly in-tact ship pieces, some with the recognizable purple of a slug cruiser's hull and some with the standard orange of the rebel fleet. Others contained raw materials melted down into ingots and haphazardly piled up. Some crates were sealed and some were open and overflowing – despite Toh's constant efforts, the fight to keep their raw materials organized was a losing battle.

"Ahab's bringing the first Mark II over now, captain. Give it a few minutes," Toh said.

"A few minutes on the first laser battery, captain," Brant announced. "If you like, I can forward you a catalog of the scrap you've received. It…hasn't been updated very recently, but…"

"You expect Slokkran to believe that this pile of garbage is properly catalogued? Thank you, dear Charlotte, but I would sooner have my own men take inventory." Slokkran drew his own pistol at that, nudging at the guard to his right. The guard slithered off among the crates, shooting open the sealed ones and briefly checking the contents of each. "A bother that the nebula disrupts our sensors and makes this examination such a chore, but life is toil, yes?"

"Indeed. Life is toil," 78 said.

"I'm glad you agree, master engi. And indeed, it is the opinion of luminous Slokkran that…"

The guard shot open one of the crates, and a cry pierced the air like a steel beam falling into a high-grade trash grinder. The guard's pistol fired twice more, apparently too little to stop whatever it was he'd found. There was another sound like an enormous sponge, a sponge with the capacity to scream in agony, falling into that same high-grade trash grinder.

Brant felt the guard die, felt its psychic death cry peel across her mind, and she thought that as good a signal as any. She dove into 78, knocking him over and dragging him behind a nearby missile tube for cover.

"You _really _didn't see that coming, dumbass?" Brant called out. "We found up that stasis pod adrift in the Hierophant sector. It's a piece of crap, hardly even fit for scrap, but it still submerges the occupant's life signs."

"Wrathful Slokkran will have your spinal column for a back scratcher, wretched carrion captain, he will snack on your eyes and bath in your fluids, damnable thing!" Slokkran cried. He and his guard stalked after them into the maze of crates and systems lying in the cargo hold, but a skittering shadow they saw for a moment gave them pause.

"We will see, arms dealer," 78 said. "I am Commander HR-XPC-78 of the Harbat Hive. Tactical expertise rated as A-1-Plus, intelligence quotient rated in high 300s, awarded highest possible honors from Exenu Hive mentorium. Every single outcome of this engagement, anticipated; every move you could make, foreseen and countered. My mind is a more dangerous weapon than any you have ever trucked with."

"Oh? We think so highly of ourselves, don't we, master engi? And yet you forget – it is my mind which is superior. For I can feel your very essence, as I can your mantis friend's; she surprised my foolish guard, but she will not surprise us again. We are ready for you, Federation pustules! Strike, if you dare, and die!" Slokkran announced.

The engi then noticed a chunk of metal lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed it and threw it at a beam lens a few yards away. It made quite a noise; the slugs looked over, just for a split second, but that was all Katarek, creeping closer and closer and waiting for a chance, had needed. The green insectoid skittered out the darkness on four limbs, quick as a phantom, dodging left and right with serpentine grace as the slugs realized their mistake. The bodyguard may have been well-trained and Slokkran might have been a devious, dangerous creature, but that didn't matter. Katarek was a pissed off mantis, and nothing is scarier than that.

Her jagged pincers came down on the guard and locked, pinning him in place as she drove her horizontal jaws into his face, teeth like saw blades ripping into the slug's soft, invertebrate flesh. Slokkran attempted to back off to get a better shot, but she swung the guard at him with tremendous force, knocking him flat. She leapt onto the guard's body and loomed over Slokkran, pinned down underneath.

"For record: Commander HR-XPC-78 failed out of the Exenu Hive mentorium," 78 said as he and Brant stepped out of hiding. "That was stupid trick by stupid engi, and you fell completely for it. Idiot. Ha ha ha."

"So…new deal," Brant announced. "I want you to get up very, very slowly, Slokkran. I want you to call off your gunner, give us back control of our weapons…and then I was hoping you could help us out with some weapons."


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, Brant stood on the bridge of the Kestrel, 78 standing beside her, Toh at the helm. Only Toh strictly needed to be in there – the spacefaring races had all learned quickly that centralizing major ship functions on the bridge only invited the enemy to target the bridge and paralyze the ship, so modern ship design always spread command stations throughout the vessel. The central display showed Slokkran's ship, a bumpy little thing bristling with probes or sensors of some kind – psychic amplifiers, if Federation intel hit its guess. Slokkran was still aboard, tied up with his gunner in the now-empty cargo hold. This had been Brant's idea of mercy, but really, her crew had taken everything they could quickly make off with, leaving Slokkran's ship unarmed, undermanned, and underpowered in the midst of a slug nebula – between this and straight execution, there was little more than semantic difference.

"Engines ready, captain. Awaiting your mark," Toh said, his massive, craggy frame hunched over the pilot's console.

Brant nodded. "Sounds good." She reached down to her captain's chair and pushed a button on the arm rest. "Bridge to all hands, outstanding work. We are engaging FTL drive and jumping to a beacon at the outer edge of the Tefinix Cloud. Depending on irregularities in the Cloud, we'll be in jump state for ten to twelve hours; in addition to your assigned responsibilities with our newly-acquired resources, you are all ordered to get a minimum of six hours rest before we reach the beacon. Brace for jump in ten seconds." She released the button and took a seat. Entering jump state always made her light-headed, and she'd earned at least a minute off her feet. 78 put a hand on the back of the chair to support himself, and she heard stabilizers in his legs click into place. "Ensign Toh, take us out of here."

The rockman manipulated several switches and throttles, the visual display switched off, and with a glimmer and a flash, the Kestrel winked out of material reality and into the ephemeral weirdness of the jump state. Brant felt a surge of vertigo; by the time a minute later that she was seeing straight again, Slokkran and his vessel were several million miles away, and finally she felt the adrenaline of the past hour die down. She slumped in her chair and exhaled.

"We're still alive," she muttered.

78 nodded, his upper body swaying slightly but his legs firmly in place. "Yes. Captain Brant…apologies. Statements about Captain Andrews…about his memory…strictly fabrications, part of ruse to distract slugs, not intended to…"

"Mr. 78," she interjected. She craned her head up to look at his face screen and smiled. "Give me some credit. We both knew what was up, and if anyone needs to apologize for their part in the ruse, commander, it's me. You said some things you didn't mean, and I beat the crap out of you. I think you got it worse. Now, let's hit the infirmary, get some caffeine, and…"

Something clicked a few times in 78's head. "Of course. Subterfuge was apparent to captain." A few more clicks. Brant had come to associate these with anxiety. "Apologies. Important. Must note: present circumstances, recent success in dangerous engagement without casualties or ship damage…must emphasize…even dying, Captain Andrews' judgment was superlative. Captain Brant…honors his memory."

Brant stood up. She and 78 had served under Andrews for the worst parts of the Rebellion, starting as ensigns and working their way up, all the way through to their current ill-fated mission. They had been confidants, and there had been times where she would have hugged the stupid cyborg and then punched him in the gut for saying something so sweet, so sappy, so sincere. But she was the captain now, she had to keep reminding herself. 78 was the only person left on-board and damn near the only person left on this side of the pearly gates who truly cared about her and whom she truly cared about, but a captain simply did not make a habit of hugging a commander.

She put a hand on his shoulder. That's appropriate, right? "Mr. 78, I mean to have more than a little bit of whiskey in that caffeine, and if you getting me all misty-eyed now, then we're both going to be goners in a little while. All's forgiven, and…thank you." She waited. Had her voice quivered a little at the end there? Probably not. "All right, let's go see how bad I messed you up. Ensign Toh, the bridge is yours."

78 still had a noticeable limp as they walked out together, but guilty as Brant felt for hurting him, she doubted her hands and feet alone could do him any damage that their infirmary couldn't clear up. It wasn't the most advanced medbay available in the fleet – if it was, she'd still have binocular vision – but it did the job. They'd both get dusted off, checked for infections from the dank slug ship, and maybe get an anti-stress drug or two to clear out the mental gunk from the standoff.

The medbay door slid open as they approached, and 78 muttered some static in disapproval. The room looked like some cheap outer-system sick-house, the walls battered and singed, bottles of medication, painkiller, and sterilizing fluid left out with no visible order. Brant always felt like the light fixtures should be flickering and sparks shooting out of the electronics to complete the image, but 78 would never tolerate that – despite dingy appearances, the medbay was always kept in perfect working order.

78's distaste was not over the dinginess, of course. It was over the towering green insectoid leaning over an auto-doc console.

"Have you killed before, Katherine?" the console's soothing, compassionate voice was asking. "Often, even a seasoned soldier never quite gets used to the act of killing another, no matter how justified or routine. I'd like to talk to you about…"

"For the last time, set psych profile to mantis, and load patient profile Katarek," Katarek hissed into the console.

"I'm sorry, this medbay unit does not have psych profile info for requested species, 'manatees'. Can we back to the subject at hand, Katherine?"

Katarek screeched and grabbed the console in her pincers, shaking it back and forth amid a torrent of sparks.

"You seem to have a lot of rage, Katherine. Do you want to talk about -" The voice cut out as Katarek ripped the console loose and threw it across the room. The chunk of machinery flew at the captain and commander, smashing into the wall just to the right of the door. 78 hit the deck, covering his head with his arms; Brant just stood there, leveling an unimpressed look at Katarek.

"Ah…oh, captain," Katarek said, finally noticing them. The mantis face, all bug eyes and twitching mandibles, never displayed any emotions Brant had learned to read, but their body language was as familiar as their faces were alien. She held herself up to her full seven-foot height, holding her pincers out to her sides as she slowly stepped forward – a challenge, making herself appear large and moving with cautious aggression. Brant sighed, locking eyes with the mantis like she always did and walking forward like she always did, quickly enough to show some aggression and slowly enough to show confidence.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume you don't have your repair kit on hand, Kat," Brant said, friendly but firm. She took a multitool off her belt and held it out. "Not a problem. You can borrow mine."

Katarek looked at the tool, her mandibles twitching, then at 78, just picking himself off the floor. She turned back to Brant. "Captain, if I may, the commander is much better at…"

"You may not, Katarek," said Brant with a smile. "You break it, you fix it. What's the problem, anyway?"

Katarek thrust her face an inch from Brant's, her mandibles unfolding around her gaping mouth as she screeched, flecking spittle into Brant's face. Brant was used to such behavior from Katarek and she usually stood her ground calmly, but her nerves had worn her down today and she responded in the only other acceptable form: screaming right back at her. After a few seconds of howling in each other's faces, Kat broke off abruptly, snatched up the multitool, and skittered off to pick up the console she'd thrown. She was giggling.

"I know I've said it, but our people need to work harder on diplomacy. You're bulbous, awkward things, but I've served engi, rock, and slug in my time, and only with you vicious little primates have I felt any rapport, any klaakthek – erm, hard to translate. Mantisness, I suppose? Mantisity?"

"Recommended translation: crazed, insatiable brutality," 78 said.

Katarek gathered up the console and looked at 78. He didn't move, but Brant heard the stabilizers click again and lock his legs into place. "Good translation. You see, even the engi have their uses. If you need a dictionary, for instance, or repairs for a biowaste treatment unit."

"Or software troubleshooting for defective psychiatric unit," 78 said. "Error. Surely pathetic engi incapable of such complex task as fixing machine to tend to sophisticated mantis mind. Implicit offer retracted."

Brant rolled her eyes. 78 could have fixed the unit in a minute, she was sure, especially because it was probably him who screwed it up in the first place to spite her. It was always something with those two – they were less at each other's throats and more hocking spitballs at each other from across the figurative room, but it was still a morale issue she might have to deal with.

While Kat got to fitting the console back in place, Brant and 78 walked up to the remaining two auto-docs. Each had a screen and console overlooking a flat bed with torn, dirty padding and a menacing tangle of scanners, scalpels, syringes, and other apparatuses on metal arms suspended above it. Brant lay down on one of these while the scanners swung down and started to work, slowly passing over her whole body.

"That was good work over there, Kat," Brant said. "Get anything good for yourself?"

"Pah!" the mantis spat. She had the console back on its rigging and was trying to figure out the various bits and wires that had to fit back in place. "Nothing. They horded only useless machinery, foul rations, and the most insipid melodramas – no spoils worth taking, not that I could find quickly." She grumbled something unintelligible; Brant caught enough to guess it had to do with the other species' pitiful concept of entertainment. She liked movies and usually checked for any worth taking if they captured a ship, particular for her favorites: gladiator dramas from Klaant-Tak-Prethu, the works of the mantis visionary Hapatakrakat the War-Seer, and a genre from nuclear-age Earth called "kung fu" that Brant had never heard of. "It's fine. I'm still working through the works of the human male, Tarantino. That should satisfy me until we die or defeat a foe with better taste."

"Good to hear," Brant said. She looked at the screen next to her bed, watching as it identified various bruises on her and diagnosed her for a few different contaminants, activating the medical nanobots in her system and directing them in treatment. As usual, she felt little but a vague tingling as the bots worked their wonders.

The door swung open just as she was getting settled, a faint green glow washing into the room as Ahabzara strolled in. Like most zoltan, he was thin, bordering on emaciated; though they were slightly taller than your average human and though their skin pulsed with ethereal power, the species looked more fragile than anything. Ahab offset that impression slightly with his swagger and his coat, a sleeveless trench coat lined with fluorescent filaments and bioluminescent furs that glittered and shone with the currents that ran through his body.

"Captain, I wished to express my pride and delight at the success of your mission," Ahab said, bowing slightly to Brant. "You do great credit to your Federation, and I am honored as always to be in your humble service."

Really, Brant should have taken 78's advice and forced Ahab to wear a standard uniform instead of that ostentatious thing, which he had almost certainly stolen from a dead zoltan diplomat, but there it was. Though a breach in regulation, the coat was a constant reminder that Ahab, polite, courteous Ahab, Ahab who always remembered everyone's birthday, was anything but a soldier of the Federation fleet.

"You're sweet, Ahab," Brant said, lying back down. "Though while we're on the subject, what the hell happened back there with the Mark IIs?"

"I am running a full diagnostic right now to determine the exact nature of the problem. I had heard that there were security issues in this model, and I had assessed and resolved eight possible exploits. It seems the slugs knew of a ninth. A full analysis will be in my report." He shrugged. "I am humbled, but I am confident that they will perform in the future."

"I'm sure it they will, Ahab, but honestly – and I mean no offense to your former livelihood – wouldn't this be exactly the kind of thing a pirate weapons engineer would have made it his business to know?"

If the accusation or the reminder of his past registered any reaction with Ahab, he didn't show it. He just looked at her, his luminous green eyes remained cheerful. "I understand how you may think so, but indeed no. Slugs may indulge in such frivolous subterfuge, but we preferred brute force aboard the Prelate. My specialties lay in incendiary and ion weaponry – seldom does an organic crew require more than a firebomb in its life support and medical systems to offer surrender."

Brant looked over at 78. His auto-doc, set to engi anatomy, was worrying at his chassis with a variety of tools and buffers. He looked back at her, his face blinking yellow for mild concern.

"Well ok then," Brant said. "Send me the report on the Mark IIs and on the installation of the new weaponry within three hours."

"Sir," the zoltan said, bowing and leaving the room.

Katarek watched him leave. She was almost done with the repairs, matching one of the last few wires on her unit to its dangling mate and reconnecting them, but for a moment she forgot about all that. "That prissy fop was a pirate?"

"Six years as chief gunner with a zoltan pirate crew," 78 said.

"And I think he was acting captain for at least a year. Little green dude knows a thing or two," Brant said.

"He doesn't intimidate, though," Katarek said. "That's half the game in piracy. What's a zoltan supposed to do, glow really bright until he hurts your eyes?"

"Apparently, he's supposed to set your life support and med system on fire, presumably from behind the safety of a hard shield," Brant said. "I grew up on a Fed colony, and we had a saying about pirates. If mantis raiders ever came to town, they'd bombard you from orbit, butcher your friends and family indiscriminately, and then sell you into slavery on some desolate mining asteroid. If zoltan raiders attacked, on the other hand, they'd bombard you from orbit, butcher your friends and family indiscriminately, sell you into slavery on some desolate mining asteroid, and then write a nice poem about the cruelty of the cosmos."

Katarek thought about that, then went back to her repairs. "A little long for a saying, isn't it?"

"The original is even longer. It's more of a drinking song, really." Brant cued up a few milligrams of soporifics on her auto doc. "I'm going to catch an hour of sleep. If this stuff doesn't wear off, one of you wake me."

"Agreeable suggestion. Shutting down primary consciousness for similar duration," 78 said.

The psych unit beeped to life, the screen flickering as Katarek fixed a few more connections back in place. "Hello. Please indicate patient name, species, and desired care."

"Katarek of the Kestrel-I, mantis, psych consultation."

"Loading mantis psych profile," the unit said. There was a pause as it loaded the psychological needs of the mantis species. When it started talking again, its voice was much harsher. "Katarek. It is has been 183 hours since our last discussion. Have you slaughtered many enemies since then?"

"Only two, psych unit, but good kills!"

"Excellent. I am delighted," the unit said with apparent sincerity. "Tell me of their deaths. Retell the battle in brutal detail for me."

The soporifics kicked in, and Charlotte Brant was borne off to sleep on a wind of drugs and recollected violence.


	3. Chapter 3

The bridge door slid open, and Brant and 78 strode in. Her uniform was freshly cleaned and the Federation insignia on his chassis shone with fresh polish, and they both had stainless steel cups of hot stimulant in hand. Brant walked up to the pilot station and looked over Toh's shoulder at the various sensors and instruments. She understood the readings for the most part, but she would probably need a few minutes with a calculator to reach the same conclusions with them that the experienced ensign could intuit at a glance. Still, she put her cup down on the flat metal surface above the consoles and eyed the instruments, curious how much of that old nav training she still had kicking around up there.

"What are we now, twenty minutes?" she guessed.

Toh turned to look her in the eye without saying a word. He pointedly shifted his gaze to the cup, then back to the captain. 78 made a little disapproving click.

"What?" Brant asked. "I can't be off by that much."

Toh looked back at the cup, then back at her. She returned the gaze, the fires of his molten interior crackling in his red-hot, slightly-disappointed gaze.

"Oh," Brant said. She reached into one of the drawers next to the console, took out a little gray polyglass coaster, and placed it under her cup. The ensign nodded.

"'bout ten minutes," Toh said.

Brant snapped her fingers. "Shucks."

"Nah, you did good. Just some of these dials ain't calibrated right anymore," Toh said in his long, slow drawl. He tapped one of the meters, displaying their relative speed in real space. "Like this one here, you'd think we were going 8,000-c, but it ain't been right since that ion mine shook it up last month. We're 16,000-c, easy."

78's screen flickered. "Impossible. Supervised repairs, and routine diagnostics reveal no malfunction."

"They ain't _broken_. They're precise and all. They just ain't _accurate_," Toh said. "Like a pistol that always shoots a little to the right. It's all useable if you know how much each one's off by. Not a problem."

Brant frowned. "I don't remember you putting in any requisition orders to address this."

Toh waved off her concern without looking at her. "We'd need to change out some parts for fresh ones, and then they'd start behaving different with all the other sensor systems – we'd be better off replacing the whole sensor array, and I know we ain't got scrap for that."

Toh sounded completely at ease, and that bothered Brant. As the only other officer on board besides her and the commander, he should know better. "Ensign, that is not your call to make. I need to know what's going on with this ship, big and small, and a pilot's console that could catastrophically mislead any other member of the crew who might have to man it if you are incapacitated fits squarely into the 'big' category."

He looked back at her. God, she wished sometimes for another human on board, someone whose faces conveyed easily recognizable emotions. The two molten eyes that looked at her now could be ashamed, or angry, or testing.

"I apologize, sir," Toh said, sounding contrite. "It won't happen again." A human would also understand that the appropriate greeting was "Ma'am," but since so few of the spacefaring races even had different sexes, she did not bother with that battle.

"Good," she said, picking up her cup and walking to her chair in the middle of the bridge. "Mr. 78, take a requisition from Ensign Toh when we make our next jump so that we know what we need when we have the resources. ETA?"

"Six minutes, captain," Toh said.

"Very good." She sat and keyed the ship intercom on her armrest. "All hands to battle stations. Approaching beacon at the outer edge of the Tefinix Cloud in approximately six minutes. We have no knowledge of this beacon or the surrounding region, but we must be ready for a pitched battle of the most grueling sort, so use the biowaste facility now if have to. Stand by to raise shields and charge weapons on my mark after we leave jump state." She flicked the ship intercom off and keyed in the weapons room. "Ahab?"

The zoltan's calm, affable voice came into her earpiece. "Captain."

"How are we looking with the new guns?"

"All systems are installed and functioning perfectly, though I am afraid our guesses about shipboard power supply have been borne out. The reactor will not be able to run all ship and weapons systems concurrently."

"How much can you give me?"

"At present, any two. I am confident that we could comfortably redirect enough power for three."

Brant brought up holographic display of the ship layout in front of her face, eyeing the power distribution levels between systems. Yikes. They'd made some upgrades with the materials from Slokkran's ship, but she'd been hoping for a little more than what she saw. She understood the zoltan's meaning. Three systems could be accommodated comfortably, and four…

"Mr. 78, redirect 10% power from engines and 100% power from medbay to missile launchers." They could still maneuver well on 90% power, and wouldn't need the medbay at once in a firefight. That was comfortable.

She paused for a fraction of a second before issuing the second, uncomfortable command, but her voice did not waver. "And 100% power from life support to beam cannon."

78, standing next to her, looked at her for a moment. He did not betray himself with any of his usual blinks or whirs of anxiety, though, and he apparently overcame whatever doubts he had in the next second. He faced forward again, and after a few flickers passed over his face, Brant saw the power shift to weapons on her holograph.

"Hey, if there's a fight, I'm sure we can win before we asphyxiate," she said.

The air vents rattled and went silent.

A few clicks came out of 78. "Assurance noted. Oxygen overrated anyway."

"Indeed. You might want to man the engines, 8, see if we can get a little extra performance out of them," Brant suggested. The engi nodded and walked from the bridge.

Ahab spoke up again from weapons. "All weapon systems online, waiting to charge. May I suggest we make it a priority to seek out reactor upgrades, whatever we find at the beacon?"

"It's certainly up there, Ahab, but you'll have to get in line. Stand by for transition."

"Three minutes, captain," Toh said.

Brant fiddled with the intercom again. "Acknowledged, ensign. Katarek, report on the shields."

"Shields suck, captain," the engineer reported respectfully through her earpiece.

"So you noted in your report earlier." They hadn't been able to finagle any upgrades out of the parts from Slokkran's ships, only managing to add in a few redundancies to make them harder to disable. In Kat's opinion, which Brant and 78 shared, their shields would not protect them from a well-equipped vessel. Once word got out that a Federation ship, a scrappy little thing chosen for its speed rather than its combat capability, was fleeing back to Federation High Command with heavily-encrypted Rebel intel, intel important enough to warrant pursuit from half the Rebel fleet, they would have to face some well-equipped vessels before long. "But how are our sucky shields doing?"

"Sucky shields are fully operational," Kat said. "But if we get any useful scrap here…"

"Noted, but you'll have to get in line. Stand by for transition." She turned the intercom off and sat back in her chair. She flicked her hand a bit and sent the hologram of the ship's systems over a foot, enough to let her see the central visual display on the bridge. It only showed static for now.

"One minute, captain." Toh said.

"Thank you, ensign. Is it your turn or mine?"

"Should be mine, sir, unless you want."

"No, go ahead," Brant said. She clasped her hands, closed her eye, and bent her neck forward a little, as Toh did the same.

"Shaper and Preserver, watch over this ship and her crew as we transition out of the jump, which is your gift to us and to all who walk the stars. By your will, may we have fortune in victory and serenity in defeat, as it please you," Toh intoned. "And I don't know if you talk to the captain's carpenter-god, but if you do, ask him to help out, too. We could all really use some scrap."

Toh struck his fist to his chest, sparks flying from the impact. Brant said "Amen."

"Transitioning," Toh said. He touched the appropriate controls, and with a wink and a glimmer, the ship entered material reality again. Brant felt a little light-headed, but leaving jump state was always a little easier on the system than entering. She was fully alert, and a good thing, too.

The sensors had bad news almost immediately.

"Captain, we've got a ship," Toh said.

Brant flicked her wrist to the right. Opposite the readout on the Kestrel, a holograph appeared showing the first few pieces of information on the nearby vessel, made patchy with the background energy of the nebula. Most people in space didn't want a fight, and this could just be a merchant or a researcher or a commune of drugged-up idealists, who knows, but Brant thought she recognized the scrambled outline.

"Crap," she muttered.

"The cloud's interfering with the instruments, but I think…" Toh said, his voice trailing off as he tried to make sense of the fragmented information on the vessel.

Brant's eye darted back and forth over the scans of the various systems on the ship as they came through, confirming her guess. The drive signature, the system placement, the shape – every little piece of info fleshed out her suspicion.

She opened a channel to engineering. That ship gave her a bad feeling. "Is that a Cormorant, 8?"

78, eyeing the same scans, chimed in the affirmative. "Almost certainly. Layout is certainly consistent with Rebel rigger design, but systems and energy readings not consistent with modern Rebel fleet."

Brant nodded. That's about what she'd thought. The Rebels had built Cormorant-class riggers early on in the Rebellion, before they'd pushed into the Federation interior and captured serious production worlds. After that, the Rebels were putting out some of the most advanced ships in space, and the primitive, inefficient models that had once been their backbone were scrapped to make sleek new cruisers and destroyers. This thing was an antique; it didn't even have the drone systems typical of later Rebel riggers. What was this doing out here, then, still flying and so far from the fleet?

The scan was briefly overlaid by a flash of visual display, showing a still image of the ship itself rather than a blueprint, and Brant had her answer. Over the usual loud orange of the Rebel fleet, this Cormorant was covered in splotches of purple, splashed haphazardly over the ship except for one image painted with care: a purple void kraken, its cranium crisscrossed with bones.

"Double crap," Brant hissed to herself. She keyed the intercom for the ship, and spoke clearly. "Game faces, people. We've got pirates."


	4. Chapter 4

"Have they spotted us?" Toh whispered, reflexively, as if the other ship could hear him.

"Can't tell. They might be charging weapons, but through all this interference it's hard to tell. Got to play this by the book, anyway." Regulation dictated that as captain, she was required to establish communication with unidentified vessels before opening fire. It was only right, anyway. This could be a slaver ship that had been taken over by its own rebellious captives, charging weapons purely in reaction to the Kestrel's doing so, or some other such sob story. Nothing would be lost in a bit of chitchat while the lasers heated up.

Brant brushed the communications symbol next to her holograph of the pirate vessel. "Hailing them now. Stand by for banter."

The main display screen in front of Toh crackled to life, displaying a fragmented, staticky picture of an engi who had seen better days. At first, he looked like 78, but 78 would probably have said that about her and a bearded, muscular human male. He had the standard engi anatomy of gray flesh, black wire and metal, and blank facial screen. Then the image clarified a bit, and Brant drew a clear distinction between this pirate and her loyal commander. Where the commander kept his chassis polished and unadorned besides an imprint of the Federation starburst insignia, this engi had festooned himself with all manner of grisly baubles: garlands of razor wire, necklaces of human bones and inert rockman organs, acid-etched tattoos of void krakens and threats in various languages, and a headdress crafted from a preserved mantis cranium.

Brant sat back and cocked an eyebrow. "Come on, guy. Don't you think that's a bit much?"

The engi's screen flashed white and fired off a burst of squealing, furious static. "Human bitch will be silent and receive our demands. Depower weapons and prepare the following tribute. Alternative: I order gunner to begin blasting your ship apart."

An incoming message appeared on Brant's screen. Without looking at it, she flicked at the holograph controls to print the message out for her from her chair's printer – a backup tool, mostly for when extreme conditions really interfered with displays. She grabbed the printout.

"These demands?" she asked, still pointedly not looking at it. She proceeded to blow her nose with the printout, wad it up, and toss it at the engi on the main display screen.

The engi's face screen flared again, but then he too sat back in his chair, chirping and whirring with light laughter. He continued, his synthesized voice much less abrasive. "Apologies. Only now noticing Federation markings – recommend starting over." One of his claw-hands reached into a compartment on his side, rummaging around before coming out with a small, battered Federation insignia. "Greetings, comrades. I am HT-XKP-145. Served with current crew aboard Osprey-III not long ago – currently trying to survive." The engi jumped a little, suddenly remembering something, then knocked off the headdress quickly. "Erm. Had to commandeer Rebel vessel when Osprey too damaged, and life in Cloud difficult – have to cultivate suitably grotesque image to avoid falling prey. Apologies for shock – depowering weapons now." He made a gesture off-screen.

Brant narrowed her eyes. The nebula, as the engi surely knew, prevented any scans that might confirm they'd actually powered down. The Osprey series had put out some badass ships, but they'd still been perfecting its experimental systems when the Rebellion began; the Feds had never had many Ospreys, and they'd lost almost all of them early on. The Cormorant series had been a load of dog crap, on the other hand, and the Rebels had ditched almost all of them early on. How did an Osprey lose to a Cormorant? The insignia looked genuine, and she didn't think this was a total bluff, but something stank.

She made some gestures off to a wall as if ordering someone to power weapons down, then looked briefly back at the display showing their laser batteries heating up. "Captain Charlotte Brant. A pleasure. I take it by your appearance that you've been out here a while.

"Hard to say. Nebula interferes with everything. Clocks temperamental. But yes – separated from fleet for a long time. Unable to make contact."

And that could well be. God knew Brant had had trouble contacting the fleet, or what passed for the fleet these days. The Rebels owed their victory in no small part to a brutal, sustained attack on the Federation's communication system. That network had been constructed, maintained, and protected by the most experienced engi technicians, and it was held to be the most advanced and secure comm system in the galaxy. That the Rebels had been able to make any kind of dent in it, let alone shut it down entirely, had caught everyone with their pants down. To this day, no one knew how they'd pulled it off.

So he could be telling the truth. If it had been easy to contact the remains of the Federation, they could have just beamed the encrypted intel they'd captured back to High Command; instead, the splinter fleet had had to assign someone of Andrews' reputation to a quick, low-profile ship like the Kestrel to manually carry the intel back to High Command. She nodded.

"There isn't really a fleet left to be separated from anymore. The Rebels ate us for breakfast and had the leftovers for lunch – the Federation's all but done. Sorry to be the one to tell you," she said. It wasn't totally true yet, but she doubted the engi would know that. The power readouts showed that her first salvo would be ready in just a few seconds. She didn't have the authority to use it yet, though, so she kept working at her hunch. "Frankly, we'd be dead too if we'd stuck to our orders. Either High Command couldn't read the writing on the wall, or they really liked the idea of fighting to the last man."

145 whirred with laughter. "Indeed. Suspect the latter. Nothing but romantics in command. Dearly wish that I could have died at post like good little sailor. To die in service – very noble, much more so than current life of sin."

"Where is your captain, 145?"

The engi did not move. His face flickered with caution. "I am captain."

"You're missing a few pips, lieutenant. That is not a captain's insignia."

"Observant. Late captain Eluzakra died suddenly in engagement with this vessel. I am acting captain. Apologize for semantic confusion." He stared at Brant, and she returned the gaze.

"Very well, acting captain," Brant said slowly, deliberately, her fingers drumming over the command keys on her armrest to give the order to fire. She flicked a key just above it instead, and a bright red hologram appeared in front of her face with the seal of the Federation and an intricate coded bar. "I hate to be rude, but we're in a rush. I outrank you, and more importantly, this ship is on an official mission of level-10 priority, as decreed by Admiral Teramel-Ur-Curda and Captain Damion Andrews. I am given maximum discretion in carrying this mission out, and I'm afraid I must commission your ship, its systems, and its resources for my own means."

The engi's face flickered various colors in consternation. "You see? Nothing but romantics. Federation effectively dead by your own admission, and still you follow last orders to last breath. Very noble." He paused. His face took on a faint red glow. "Captain Eluzakra very noble, as well. Orders to defend Ignus-XI production world from Rebel advance. 8% chance of victory. 8%, and insisted on following orders." 145 shook his head. "Rebel victory tragic, but obvious, inevitable even from early days of Rebellion. Captain could not see." The engi leaned forward. Brant did not shift her gaze, noting only the flashing lights of her charged weapon systems in her peripherals. "Captain Eluzakra died suddenly in engagement with this vessel, yes. She died suddenly because I shot her in back of head with sidearm, and then shot her in head twice more when she was lying on floor." He keyed a few commands into his armrest, and without even looking to confirm that the Cormorant had fired, she had keyed in a channel to weapons.

"Ahab!" she growled. "Fire at will!"


	5. Chapter 5

Brant crouched with her back against the door frame, holding her pistol up in front of her, trying to catch her breath. Toh stood next to her, and Mickleson and 78 were braced against the frame on the other side of the opening, all cradling sidearms and darting eyes at each other.

"Come, cowards! Strike!" the mantis shrieked from the compartment inside. "I have many pressing appointments in Hell today, and you delay me!" The mantis started cackling, and a flurry of plasma fire spat out of the doorway. One burst struck the door by Brant's face, and she brought her arm up with a hiss as hot sparks brushed against her face. Her eyes stung with the heat.

"Shaper and preserver, watch over us now as we struggle with your enemies, permit us to…" Toh whispered to himself.

"Lieutenant Commander?" Mickelson asked of 78. The engi was vibrating slightly, his movements jerky and uncertain, but he slowly nodded.

"Unacceptable risks in rushing chamber blindly. Mantis well-armed, and had time to prepare for us – risk of traps uncertain. Perhaps attempt to negotiate surrender." His face screen was blinking red and yellow and his voice was whirring with reluctance. "Very much open to suggestions. Lieutenant?"

Brant was thinking. She didn't like the idea of a wounded crew bum rushing a rested, well-armed, cornered mantis, but this one had also just lost her whole crew, she knew that her ship would be crippled and dismantled as soon as this engagement was over, and she would not take life in captivity well – this creature would never surrender.

Brant pointed at her sidearm, pointing at the buttons that controlled shot output. She pantomimed pushing it a lot, then mimed throwing it in the room and making a little explosion with her hands. She nodded at 78 for approval.

"Mmm," 78 hummed. "Yes. But you are better shot. Permit me."

Brant nodded, and the engi set his sidearm to catastrophically overload in a few seconds. The gun, now more of a grenade, started beeping wildly in his hands. He tossed it blindly into the chamber, the beeping speeding up urgently.

The mantis fired wildly at the door, and Brant thought she was trying to shoot the gun out of the air. Then she heard the beeping getting closer…

"Oh crap," Mickelson muttered. 78 squealed a crackling engi obscenity and Toh's prayers became more fervent as the mantis tossed the beeping gun back through the doorway. Brant couldn't believe how careless they were being – they should have put down covering fire like the Fed playbook told them to, like the mantis was currently doing for herself, and as the firearm, now shaking slightly, slid back into view, she wondered if those would be her last thoughts.

78 lunged for the gun, his servos screaming from the sudden effort. Before Brant could react, he landed one claw on the pistol and catapulted it back into the chamber; and before he could make another movement, he all but disintegrated. Solid slugs blew chunks out of his chest and abdomen and plasma rounds sloughed bursts of hot slag off his limbs. He convulsed, his legs buckling, failing, his face screen warping and cracking from heat and impact. It happened so fast, the space of a second; Brant was on her feet, screaming, rushing to help before her brain could tell her what a poor idea this was. The gun exploded violently mid-air and Brant felt hot shrapnel sting her back, and she knew it was her salvation – if not for that distraction, the mantis would have just shot her too.

Brant pulled the engi off to cover, bits of him falling off as they went. Clearly freaking out, Mickelson moved to help only after they were already in cover, and Toh stayed by the door with his pistol ready.

"Lieutenant Commander, do you hear me?" Brant shouted.

Sparks flew out of 78's face screen. His body twitched, but he made no response.

"This is Lieutenant Brant, do you…8, please, this is Charlotte, talk to me!"

78's head moved forward slightly, but some hinge clearly wasn't working and his head jerked to the side. His voice was more static than words as he said, "Primary consciousness undamaged. Reparable…hurts."

Brant exhaled deeply. "You'll probably get a medal for that."

More sparks shot out of 78's face. "Goodie," he said. "Mentors at Exenu Hive always said I would not amount to anything. Mantis alive?"

"Whatever else happens, I have to thank you – getting to tear up one last engi was a savory ending to this life," the mantis shouted within. "Is he still functional, or alive, or whatever it is with his kind?"

"Feeling excellent," 78 shouted back, though the screeching quality to his damaged voice unit announced the lie. "Has realization that you cannot win entered your brain, or is it just a bundle of muscles with your kind?"

"Oh, you're right. What a fool I'm being. I'll just put my weapons down, and you can come take me into custody. There, weapons down. I'm so relieved!"

Toh cautiously extended a hand mirror around the corner in the highly unlikely event she was telling the truth. The mirror promptly exploded, a pistol shot echoing from the chamber.

"Ayup," Toh said, shaking the broken glass out of his hand.

Brant checked over 78 to make sure he wasn't just being stoic; her knowledge of engi anatomy was fragmentary at best, but as beat up as he was, it looked like he'd live if he got back to the medbay soon.

"What are we going to do?" Mickelson asked. His eyes were wide and his face was sweaty – barely out of his teens and basic training, the blonde, handsome Mickelson was all the reminder Brant ever needed that this last, desperate mission of the Federation did not have the luxury of taking only the Federation's finest. They'd had to take who and what was at hand. This wasn't even that bad of a situation, four against one, and he couldn't keep his emotions in check; she had the distinct feeling Mickelson wouldn't last, but then she had that feeling about all of them, herself included.

"Uncertain," 78 said. "Further use of overloaded sidearms jeopardizes combat capability. Contact captain – recommend return to Kestrel, destroying life support systems with ship weapons…"

"That would certainly do it."

Brant jumped at the voice behind her, then felt a surge of relief. She straightened herself, turned, and saluted.

Captain Andrews nodded casually at her. He was a human male in his fifties, tall and dark-skinned, bald and with a stern, fatherly face. He had his own sidearm drawn in one hand and a crackling power baton in the other, but they may as well have been a walking stick and a refreshing cocktail for all the stress on his face. "As you were, lieutenant."

"Captain!" 78 said, his body spasming; Brant thought he might have been trying to sit upright a little and salute, but his busted joints weren't having it. "Apologies. Situation…not good."

"Sir, I have to agree with 78's appraisal. We're not in a position to confront the mantis personally without taking losses – we may need to resolve this with shipboard weapons," Brant said.

"He'd have plenty of time to fire back while we wait for him to suffocate. We can't afford repairs right now, and I'm not sure we can afford to damage this craft any more than necessary. We need every ounce of salvage we can come by," Andrews said firmly. "Besides, he's not…"

"_She_, primate!" the mantis howled back. "I'm female! Here I thought all you apes could think about was sex."

"My apologies," Andrews shouted back. "I just got here." He turned back to Brant. "Besides, consider all of your options. Which approach here has the highest potential benefits?"

Brant thought about this. "We…neutralize the mantis in close quarters, with minimal damage to the ship and systems, so that we can maximize our returns in salvage."

Andrews chuckled. "Well, yes, but not in the sense you mean." Andrews crept up to the door frame next to Mickelson and pressed against it. He nodded acknowledgment at Mickelson and Toh, then looked up into the air. "You and your people fought well. My people and I fought better. Your people are all dead now."

Brant cringed a little, but she could see where this was going. If they couldn't safely kill the mantis in her corner, they could taunt her out of it. She knelt over 78, shielding him and getting ready to defend herself.

"Ha! Don't congratulate yourself too much, ape. I've fought with four different crews on six different ships, and these were the crappiest of both," the mantis said. "This was hardly a fair fight."

"I choose to take that a compliment. Fairness is an expensive luxury for us these days. We have to pick our battles, and it sounds like we picked well this time." Andrews looked over at Brant and winked.

"Hurray for you. I know when I'm beaten, anyway – put down your weapons so I know you won't just shoot me, and maybe we can discuss my surrender face to face."

"To face you unarmed would be to treat you as less than a threat, and I would not pay you that insult," Andrews said. "So I'll discuss it from right here, and I'll offer these terms: join us, or my people will blow your ship apart."

Brant's breath hitched. This was either a sincere offer to take a treacherous, violent mantis on board, or a duplicitous attempt to lure the enemy into the open on false pretenses and execute her. She would not have expected either from the captain.

"Ha! You will not insult my martial abilities, but you will insult my intelligence. I defecate on your terms and stuff them in your mouth. 'Join me or die,' he says – ha!"

"Oh, those were not my terms," Andrews called out. "To be sure, you're going to die either way."

A pause. "…what?" asked the mantis.

"You've probably noticed that the Federation is in rapid decline. How long has it been since one of our ships has been through this sector?"

"You're the only idiots I've seen in months flying Fed colors. Everyone else who used to roll with your fleet in this sector had the good sense to die or go pirate," the mantis said. "They say the Rebels really handed it to you. Can't say you didn't have it coming, either."

"There's a few on High Command who'd agree with you there, too. My ship's involved in a top priority mission involving highly secretive Rebel intelligence, and the Rebels know about us – if you join up with us, you'll be fighting for your life everywhere we go. I intend to carry our orders out to the letter, because what the hell else is there to do, but make no mistake: whether you make your stand here or join us, your odds of escaping a violent death in the near future won't change much. You'll get a few extra weeks, tops, and they'll be filled with all manner of violence."

Mickelson made a kind of chirping noise and looked like he might throw up, his nerves bubbling over before he could reassert control.

"I'll admit, your offer has some savor to it," said the mantis. "How can I trust you?"

"Hell, use your own appraisal! You have brought my four best boarders at a stalemate all by yourself. Plainly, I'm in need of someone with close combat expertise."

A pause. "They are quite pitiful, yes."

Andrews looked at his people and winked, mouthing 'sorry'. "I also have it from your own mouth that you didn't care much for this ship or crew, so I don't suspect any particular grudge on your part. And you know we're Federation, so you know I'm not lying about hard times ahead.

"I tell you what – I'm going to come in there now. I'm well-armed and I know what I'm about in a fight, so if you think I'm trying to fool you, then you and me can just hash this out in whatever way comes natural."

Brant's heart stopped and her breath hitched as Brant strode out into the doorway, baton crackling and firearm humming. She had heard much of the treachery of the mantids, that you can only ever trust one to betray you at the worst possible moment, that they were like the scorpion in the fable with violence and backstabbing engrained in their nature. She would learn, of course, that this was so much propaganda left over from past wars – in reality, the mantis race with their hive-like roots had loyalty and service engrained on a genetic level.

Katarek accepted Andrews' offer, and though she felt the need to constantly poke and prod at the limits of Andrews' and later Brant's command, she quickly became an indispensable part of the crew. As Andrews explained to her later, there were two lessons here. First, when you need to kill stuff, it never hurts to have a mantis on your side. Second, mercy is not merely an ideal for ethics texts, but a powerful tactic in its own right, sometimes the most strategically sound option available.

It was one of Andrews' most enduring lessons. Brant found herself remembering it as she waited for the traitor ship's opening salvo. The idea of mercy for mutineers seemed disgusting to her, and yet…

"Enemy fire inbound – taking evasive action. Commander, gimme' all you've got," Toh said. The compensators on the Kestrel kicked in, absorbing most of the energy from the breakneck turns, stops, and reversals the pilot performed, but not quite enough for Brant to feel secure in her seat. She strapped herself in and looked at her readouts. Despite all the static, she could clearly make out several blips homing in on the ship, indicative of multiple rockets and even more energy bursts. She didn't like that one bit.

"That's all they've got? I've seen better firepower on a neutered canid," Katarek chuckled over the comm.

"Just keep those shield up, Kat. We're all good on chuckles up here," Brant shot back. The Cormorant was better armed than most of its model, which was doubtless why the pirates had opened fire. 145's ship was much stronger than the average Kestrel-class, but Slokkran's armory and Brant's aggressive power allocation had made her stronger still. Brant would win this in a straight fight, but not without getting banged up. Times were already lean, and they needed every ounce of scrap they could manage to get the ship through Rebel space – having to budget for repairs as well might push them past the breaking point. Besides, these were mutineers. She couldn't count on a straight fight.

She breathed in deep to calm her nerves, and found it not quite as satisfying as she'd expected. Oh, right. The air was off. If this went on too long, they'd need to depower something critical or asphyxiate.

She pitched forward in her seat, her cup flying down and spilling stimulant on the floor. Toh was giving the rockets merry hell, and he'd just slammed the craft to a full stop and jerked it in a new direction as fast as their sub-light drive could take them. Missile targeting computers and laser tracking systems were very sophisticated, but a clever pilot with a fast ship could outsmart or outrun them. Brant saw two of the rocket blips careen past the ship and felt a rumble as a few laser bursts peppered their shields. Then the background energy of the nebula spiked, and her readouts became static.

"Shields holding, capt–" Katarek began before the ship shook violently.

"Missile impact. Couldn't quite dodge it – having trouble telling where they are with all this static," Toh said. The readouts crackled back into vision, and the captain and pilot both breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn't great news, but the rocket was small, hadn't punctured the hull, and hadn't damaged any critical systems. Toh may not have been able to dodge the last shot, but he'd gotten them to take it well.

"Ahab, how'd we do?" Brant asked.

"Light damage to their shields, captain, not much else. We seem to have the advantage, but I suspect it will take some time. Is there any particular tactic you would recommend, or shall I use my own discretion?"

She thought of their conversation earlier. Giving him discretion meant employing pirate tactics. It meant fires in the medbays, or boarding to kidnap captives, or damaging the shields to lure repair crews in before peppering the compartment with antipersonnel rounds. On the one hand, it was unethical and stood squarely against the Federation's honor code.

On the other hand, 145 had shot his captain in the back of the head so that he could abandon the Federation in its darkest hour.

She looked over the readouts on their first volley, telling at a glance that the Cormorant had good shields and a competent pilot. A quick victory through straight firepower was unlikely.

"Captain – urge restraint," 78 said. "Graphic retelling of former captain's execution likely emotional ploy – and besides, Cormorant very inefficient design, but similar structure to Kestrel. If captured with minimal damage, could repurpose many systems for own use. Not suggesting clemency, captain. Merely…judicious use of force."

"Not sure we have the luxury of choice here, 8. All that scrap won't make a difference if we have to repair half the ship to get it. If we get a chance to do more than a prick to them, I think we've got to take it." She looked at the power readouts again. Oxygen levels were sinking steadily; the air would be breathable for a few more minutes before they'd have to start sacrificing maneuverability or defense or weapons, none of which they could afford to go without in such an even engagement. They couldn't even spare anything for the teleporters.

"Ahab, focus all fire on enemy shields, with beam on standby to cut through weapons and engines if we get an opening."

"Aye aye, captain," Ahab said over the com.

"Their gunner knows what he's up to," Toh said. "If we can get the engines up to full power, we might…"

Brant cut him off. "We might get slowly blown apart because we've only barely got enough shielding and firepower to beat these guys as is. Engines stay 90%."

Toh nodded, his knuckles creaking as he took a firmer hold of his controls. "Yes, captain."

Brant brought up a visual display of the Cormorant. It was fuzzy as hell, but she could make out the ship and the bright blue outline of its shields through the static. A second salvo of missile and laser fire spat out of the Cormorant just as Ahab fired the Kestrel's guns, and Brant braced for impact.

"Huh," Toh said. "Not as many this time."

Brant did not like that. They hadn't even scratched the enemy's weapon systems. Either 145 was going easy on them, or he'd decided to change up…

"Bombs!" 78 screeched. "Explosive ordnance detected!"


	6. Chapter 6

Brant braced for the worst. There was no good place for a bomb to blow up onboard, but some were worse than others. As the transport signature of an incendiary showed up, she reflected that some were much worse than others. If they flamed their O2 controls now, with ship atmosphere already dropping, this would very quickly turn into a very bad day.

The ship shook, and the console warned of fire onboard. The medbay.

"Oh thank God," she muttered. The relief quickly dissipated as she thought about the bomb, that it was either a miss or a deliberate preparation for a boarding action. In open space where scanners could determine the composition of the enemy crew and the capabilities of their shipboard defense systems, fighting the enemy on their own turf was still a frightening proposition. In the blindness of the nebula, it was nearly suicidal, but manageable if proper care had been taken to soften the enemy up. Was that what was happening? Was a crack squad of marines and drones going to materialize on the bridge any second now? Or was this a deliberate fake-out, tricking her to keep her skilled combatants in reserve instead of sending them in?

Through the scrambled visuals, she saw several blasts pepper the Cormorant from her own salvo. A few hits to shields, light damage to engines, and a grazing shot here and there on the hull, with the rest of their shots flying off into the void. Ahab was no joke in the gunner's chair, but Toh was right – their pilot knew how to move. She scowled and hoped she'd missed something.

"Ahab, report."

"The data is hard to read, captain, but I make out light damage to shields and engines…ah, wait…yes, I believe one of our rockets has disabled their transport beam."

Oooh. "Now, when you say 'believe…'"

"80% sure, captain."

Brant nodded. On the one hand, she could ignore their medbay for the moment, letting the fires gutter out on their own without ordering crew from their posts to hastily repair it, and the vacuum the fire would leave behind would be contained rather than further taxing the ship's oxygen supply. On the other hand, if these pirates did not have a crack squad of boarders ready to go, then they might prioritize repairs to the transporter, and she'd really be caught with her pants down.

"Oxygen at 60%, captain," 78 said.

She cursed. They couldn't keep the fight up for long. She could alternate power from engines to life support, but that would only make it easier for the Cormorant to lock on. She could do the same with weapons, but they already had barely enough firepower to win. More than likely, the pirates would just charge their jump drive and slink off to safety before they could be fully defeated, and she'd have nothing to show for all this effort. There had to be a better way. Andrews would have found a way.

And then she remembered. Andrews had found a better way. She remembered what he'd taught her that day, and she closed her eyes in disgust at what she knew she had to do.

"Cease fire," she muttered to Ahab.

"…pardon, captain, there must have been some interference. Could you…"

"I said cease fire, Ahab. Charge and target, but hold." She keyed a few commands into her console, power allocations and brisk written orders to certain crewmembers – there were some who might find the course of action she was about to take highly disagreeable, and she didn't want to vocalize anything yet. "Switching power from beam to life support and engines."

"Of course, captain," Ahab said calmly, pleasantly. Possibly he had great faith in her and trusted what must have seemed like a foolish move, or possibly he was making plans to end her incompetent command at the earliest convenience and add her eye patch to his little memento chest – you just couldn't tell with him. And considering that she might have just killed them all, she wasn't sure she could blame him if he was planning the latter.

She breathed in deep as the air rattled back on, calming herself. Then she opened a comm channel to the Cormorant with her console.

145 answered almost immediately, his face screen glowing a delighted blue.

"Captain Brant. Are we to engage in playful banter as we rend at each other, or do you need another copy of my demands?"

"Neither. I've instructed my gunner to cease fire. I want to make you an offer."

"Ha ha. Battle hardly over. Surely overly optimistic if you think we are considering surrender so soon."

"I don't want you to surrender," Brant said, almost growling. She breathed in and out. "I'm offering something that only I can offer you."

Toh slowly turned his head and gave her a suspicious look. She ignored him and kept her focus on 145, whose screen broke into brief, confused static.

"You signed up for a reason. You abandoned your post, betrayed your fellow soldiers, yes, and I get that. I don't know that I could ever really forgive it, but I get it. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and everything seems so hopeless now. You got spooked, you did something stupid, and you have to live with that. But you signed up. What was it – did the Feds save your hive from the mantis? Free you from slavers? Or was it just the offer of purpose?"

145's face was a black slate. She'd expected mocking laughter. He just stared at her.

"I don't know. Whatever it was, you signed up. And then you deserted. You could have found quiet in the outer systems or gone to your home worlds, but you went pirate instead. And I get that, too. This?" She gestured at the Federation starburst on her uniform. "This means more to me than anything, and I've never met as sailor in the fleet who felt different. And if ever in some moment of weakness, if ever in some moment of need or fear, if I turned my back on my fleet when it needed me – I don't think I could ever go home after that. See, I want to think that you're a monster, that you're slime, that you're beneath me and that you and I have no common frame of reference, but I think you and I have the same problem."

She paused to feel this out and see if she needed to hastily order the beams back online. This was more than enough time for the Cormorant's weapons to have recharged, but 145 seemed to be hearing her out. He stared with the same black, empty face for a moment. "And what is that, Captain Brant?"

"We both have a conscience. And the problem with a conscience is once you've done something unforgiveable, then you can never see yourself as a decent person again. Every time you look in the mirror, you see the things you've done, and the only way to live from there is to be the sinner you think you are. Is that why you're still out here in a stolen Rebel boat while their whole fracking fleet sweeps across the system? I'm sure you tell yourself you're going to feed off the chaos they leave in their wake, but I bet that somewhere in your subroutines, you're hoping they find you, and that you get the violent end that you have coming to you."

145 stared. Eventually, he clicked in disapproval. "Chatty, aren't you? I have enjoyed the diversion and armchair psychobabble, but…"

"Join us. By the supreme authority given me for this mission, I grant you and your crew absolute pardon, and offer you reinstatement into the service of the Federation." She rose from her chair. "We need you. We are carrying encrypted intel back to high command, and we have reason to believe it will turn the tide – even at this late hour, there's a chance, but we need you. So there it is. I do not request your surrender. I offer you redemption, captain."

They must have stood there staring each other down for at least a solid two minutes. Brant tried to read that inscrutable machine face for the first half, but then her mind started to wander to considerations like "Am I actually going to crap my pants," "Did Andrews ever actually crap his pants at times like this," and "I wonder if the engi have a fear response at all like crapping your pants." Two minutes is a long time to just stand there.

There was a voice from off-screen, the quick chattering of engi speech, but 145 shouted it down in the same tongue. Brant made a mental check that the pilot was also an engi – that would be three engi in the group if they actually joined up. How would 78 take that, she wondered. God, how would Kat?

"Interesting…" 145 began. "Your analysis of situation is…childishly simplistic. Naïve." A flash of static on his face. "Appealing. In fairness, was only recently made aware of the size and thoroughness of incoming Rebel fleet – have considered retreating to quieter space. Still…interesting…but…"

Brant nodded thoughtfully. Calmly, she returned to her seat. "My mentor, Damion Andrews, taught me by example. He spared an enemy once, and he welcomed her aboard and gave her a post. Imagine that, a mantis serving faithfully on a Federation vessel!" Brant flicked the console, redirecting power from engines to the teleporter. She looked up at 145 and smirked joylessly. "Actually, captain, you don't have to imagine it."

Suitably distracted by her offer, 145 was taken wholly unaware as Katarek materialized behind him. Perhaps he and his pilot could have defended themselves at full battle-readiness, but not so in an ambush. He only had time to flash red and yellow in terror as she stabbed and ripped and shot pointe black into his back, then gripping him fast to herself as the off-screen pilot reacted too late and began shooting. Several rounds detonated against 145's chest, but Kat held him steady as she returned fire, screeching an alien battle cry.

Toh looked back at her again, now in horror. Again, she ignored him. The smirk fell away as she found she took no actual joy in this, but she did feel at least a little righteous. "How are you liking the redemption, traitor?" she asked. "Bittersweet, I'm sure, but like you said – dying at your post is so very noble."

145 tried to reply, but all that came out was squeals and sparks. A burst and a howl off-screen signaled the death of the pilot. Katarek threw the engi captain aside and looked around.

"Bridge secure, captain." The mantis reached to one of her bandoliers, and Brant's screen switched to a view from Katarek's own camera. "I'll have a look around, see if they have any auto-pilot worth speaking of."

"Well done. Ahab, they won't be dodging anything now; punch through their shields with the laser batteries and fire all ion arrays at their weapons. I think we've got this, don't want to beat up our prize any more than necessary. Kat, check life-signs. We need to know how many more of them are on-board."

"Copy." Katarek stalked over to 145's console; without his authority, she wouldn't be able to manipulate the console at all, but she could still see its readouts plainly enough. Brant looked them over, still coming through spotty, but clear enough to read.

And apparently, it was that easy. At first glance, there were no additional life signs, and Katarek commenced with the bellyaching about how she'd gotten all set for a fight and blah blah blah.

Then they saw one faint human male signature in the brig. And Katarek commenced with the giggling.


	7. Chapter 7

Within an hour, they'd stripped the Cormorant of useful materials, coming away with quite a haul. At a glance of the inventory Kat and 78 had prepared, Brant thought they'd be able to boost their reactor by at least 30%, with weapons and plating enough to make the Kestrel a nasty little piece of work.

She wasn't quite as sure how to feel about the other cargo they'd picked up.

She sat in her private quarters, sipping from a steaming polysteel mug of stimulant, watching a live video feed of the medbay. Their new guest was pacing back and forth in there. Kat had found him in a light stasis, a common practice for lifeforms intended for slave trade, and on Brant's orders, he'd been brought aboard and placed in the medbay to ease back into consciousness. He was young, tall, and lanky, with a ruddy complexion and short, curly black hair. He'd grown scruffy in captivity but he seemed otherwise healthy, probably to keep up his sale value. Brant wondered what she'd think of his appearance if she'd seen any other human males in the last few weeks, but in present circumstances, he was very easy to look at.

Brant didn't like it.

It had taken about an hour before he'd gotten up and begun cautiously examining his surroundings. He found the doors were locked shut when he tried them, and once or twice he called out to ask where he was, and to ask whether or not he was a prisoner. And that, thought Brant, was a good question. She sighed and pressed a button on her chair, opening an audio link to 78.

"Head on in," Brant said. "Play it like we talked about."

On the screen, she saw the door to the medbay open, letting in a dim green glow. 78 walked in with Ahab. 78 carried a tray of food, and Ahab strode with his hands clasped confidently behind his back. The man stopped pacing, standing cautiously still as he eyed the two newcomers.

"Salutations, friend!" said Ahab with a slight bow. "My name is Ahabzara, and this is my associate, Commander HR-XPC-78. Allow me first to apologize for the abominable accommodations you've had to abide so far, but you understand that certain security protocols are of course…"

"Are you pirates?" the man interrupted. "Because we can skip the whole 'genteel Zoltan pirate' shtick. I've heard it before, and I'd appreciate if you just skip to whatever you're going to do to me."

"What is…shtick?" Ahab looked back at 78 in confusion. "What is shtick?"

"Particular routine or gimmick in terms of performance, as associated with…" 78 began.

"Where amI?" the man demanded.

Brant leaned closer to the screen, watching his face. "Tell him," she said. "He'll figure it out eventually."

"Aboard Federation vessel, Kestrel-1," 78 said. "You were recovered from captivity and apparent slavery aboard Cormorant-class vessel under rogue Federation captain HT-XKP-145, now terminated."

Brant stared at the screen, searching his face for any sign of a reaction to that news, anything that might tip her off to this new guy's actual allegiance. His eyes widened a little, but that was hardly telling. Was he relieved to be free? Surprised they'd overcome such a vicious pirate?

Or was he a Rebel, realizing he had a unique position to undermine the enemy?

"Am I a prisoner?" the man asked.

"No. Please, sit. Eat," 78 said, sitting down at a cramped table and setting the food tray down at the chair opposite him. Ahab walked up and sat beside 78. "Cannot give run of the ship yet, not without proper introduction." 78 gestured at the tray, his face screen pulsing a cool blue.

The man walked forward warily and sat. He stared at the tray a moment, which had a generous slopping of spicy stew and a hunk of bread. After only a bit of hesitation, he dug in and ate ravenously. If he was concerned about poison or drugs in the food, hunger concerned him more.

"This isn't bad," the man said in between bites. "You have humans on board? I don't imagine a synthetic and an ethereal would know much about decent human food."

78's face blinked orange, and he whirred in irritation. "Organics always think everything about organic experience is so special and unique," 78 scoffed. "Food not hard to understand. Keep materials in storage, download preparation routines from public database, follow instructions. Like everything else organic: predictable, simple."

The man glared at 78 with…annoyance? Brant stared closer, scrutinizing. "Poke him further," she whispered.

"Now, commander, there is no cause for rudeness. He is our guest, after all," Ahab chided gently. He turned back to the man and leaned in, smiling proudly. "Myself, I am quite fascinated by your digestive process. So much time and resources to produce a few centigrams of vegetable matter and protein and to prepare it to satisfy your fickle senses, and in hardly any time at all, your body will render the fruits of all this labor into mere excrement. Surely, it is a metaphor for us all."

The man stopped eating, looking quizzically up at the two of them. "So do you have any humans on board? No offense, but…"

"We were selected for this interview because we are considered the two most genial members of the crew," Ahab said. "We thought that, after being held captive by hostile aliens, it might be nice to see friendly faces. And we are rather friendly faces indeed, are we not?"

Ahab opened his toothless mouth into a broad, beaming rictus, his pupil-less eyes fixed on the stranger. 78's face screen strobed green and blue, and he beeped a few times. The man looked at these friendly faces with growing unease.

"Now. Inform about yourself," 78 said.

The man stared back at them for a second, then sighed and shrugged. "Name's Karl. Karl Vossler. I…worked the engines on a trader. The Mackerel…no, no, it was the…" He paused, looking concerned. "The Dolphin. I think. I'm sorry, everything's very fuzzy."

"Amnesia common side effect of extended time in stasis. Temporary," 78 said.

"And a fracking convenient excuse," Brant muttered to herself. "Enough. 8, report to my quarters."

"Apologies. Needed elsewhere. Glad we produced acceptable facsimile of human nourishment, Karl Vossler." 78 took the food tray, which Vossler had still been working on, and walked to the medbay door. "Sending in next most genial crew member to continue introductions." The door opened, and 78 walked.

Katarek walked in, carrying a large bottle of bright orange hot sauce. Karl started a little, but he kept himself composed as the mantis strode in

"Ah – it is awake. Excellent," Kat said as she scuttled up to the table. "Hello, soft meat thing. I am Katarek, of the mantis race, and this is a bottle of Admiral Scorcho sauce. It tastes very good with soft meat things."

"Tut, tut, Katarek. You mean 'to.' It tastes very good _to _soft meat things, and that is not a polite term either."

"Ah – silly me. Prepositions are such slippery things." Kat slid the hot sauce over to Karl. "A gift. Quite delectable."

Karl didn't take his eyes off Katarek.

"Now, Karl, we have some simple questions developed to gauge your personality," Kat continued. "How would you describe your flavor profile, Karl-thing? Gamey, rich, sweet – what are we getting here?"

The door to Brant's quarters chimed, and she lowered the volume on the video screen. "Come in," she called.

78 entered, stopping just inside at attention.

Brant waved at the seat next to her. Her quarters were sparse, little more than a bed, some storage units, and a table with chairs by a wall-mounted vidscreen. She kept the place tidy, not that she had much stuff with which to make it untidy. 78 took the offered seat, and the two looked at each silently. She wasn't sure if there was really tension between them, or if it was just her imagination.

"So what's your read of him?" she asked, ignoring the feeling.

"Uncertain. Does not seem easily perturbed, but that attitude consistent with sailors in general, not military or rebellion. No strong sentiments against nonhuman lifeforms noticeable. Seemed eager to speak with a human, but that not itself unusual."

"No, it's not," Brant said, looking back up at the screen. "My first impulse when I saw Kat's feed of him chained up in their brig was to unchain him, bring him back to my quarters, and screw till I passed out." She shook her head. "Sorry. A human term, referring to the act of sexual…"

"Familiar with concept and slang terminology. Give some credit, captain," 78 said. "Dare I ask second impulse?"

"Same as the first, only leaving the chains on. It was…scary, the way those impulses just came. I've never been like that. It's like I'm in starvation mode for human contact, and my body's telling me I've got to connect with this guy since it's been so long since I've even seen any others." She sighed. "It passed, but still. I'm too eager to trust him, and he might be a live grenade. I shouldn't be the one screening him."

"Understandable. Though should note, in likely case this is simply unfortunate sailor, this likely somewhat traumatic experience."

"Considering the Cormorant was a Rebel ship originally, the odds that he's a Rebel aren't that long. In the likely case that he's an unfortunate Rebel, we have to know."

"Agreed. Not questioning," 78 said. "If he is Rebel, though, what do we do?"

Brant looked at Karl. "What would you do, commander?"

"Know what Andrews would do, at least: put him in brig, try to coax information out of him, use winning personality to turn him to Federation cause, set him loose in escape pod for Rebel fleet to pick up if unsuccessful," 78 said. "Ethical and straightforward with room for great gains."

"And that's what you would do, too?"

78 crackled in disappointment. "I would take useful materials off him and throw him out airlock. Low risk. Some satisfaction."

"Jesus, 8…"

"You would do different?"

Brant looked at 8. Why did he seem so relaxed with this conversation? After what she'd pulled earlier with the pirates, she'd been expecting disapproval at best, mutiny at worst.

"I don't know. Having a Rebel on board under any kind of guard would be an unacceptable risk. It's just…that's not how he taught us, 8."

"No?" 78 asked. "Damion Andrews, true exemplar of Federation values, yes. Outstanding officer, patient and wise teacher. Fought bravely, and with honor, and with spirit. Then died." 78's screen blinked with static, and his voice warbled slightly. "In death, he taught final lesson. Bravery, honor, spirit – useful. Necessary. But these times chew up, swallow the brave, honorable, spirited. Ruthless pragmatism is primary morality in times like these. Only just realizing that, myself. You, I think, already have learned."

Brant could not disagree with a single word of this. Hearing it so plainly spoken still nearly brought her tears of shame and disgust.

"8, I want you to tell me plainly what you think of how I handled the pirates."

"Bold. Distract enemy with surprising offer, convince him into thinking you possess almost heroic degree of mercy and forgiveness, that you will consider him comrade, then send in brutal border in close proximity when he least suspects it," 78 said, not quite admiring but respectful. "Though, could also interpret situation to say you reinstated rogue captain into Federation, and so your actions constitute murder of fellow officer."

"I think that's how Toh sees it."

"The ensign is entitled to his opinion. Allow me to express mine: Andrews is dead. Federation has faltered. Friends, mentors, leaders, hivemates, ideals – all have failed me." 78 reached over gently and laid his claw on her forearm, squeezing slightly. He looked at her with unusual intensity. "All except for you, Charlotte. You, all I have left. Loyalty to you: unconditional. And do not misunderstand. Do not misinterpret as hyperbole. _Unconditional_. Will follow you, whichever path you walk, however dark. My opinion of how you handled Captain 145 is that you were devious and brutal. Had another acted so, would have found actions morally appalling. That you acted so instead indicates transition to new moral parameters."

Brant put her hand on his claw and squeezed back. "That's…terrifying, 8. You can't act like that. If I step over the line…"

"If stepping over the line necessary to save Federation in last desperate hour, irresponsible to let personal conscience obstruct action. Will not stand in your way. Will not let you carry moral burden alone, either." 78 whirred. "Apologies. Should not have interrupted."

Brant laughed out loud. "You'll walk hand in hand with me to damnation, but you still feel bad for interrupting?"

"Still such a thing as manners," 78 insisted.

Smiling, Brant nodded. "Yeah. And I guess it's time I meet our guest."

A few minutes later, the medbay door slid open, and Brant and 78 strode in. Only Ahab noticed immediately. Kat and Karl were in spirited conversation.

"I'm sorry – I just didn't like it," Karl said, his arms crossed.

"Didn't like it! 'Deathsong of Chaka-Harakat' was the _definitive _gladiator drama! The genre wouldn't exist without it!" Kat cried back.

"I get that! But so many vids built on the concept so much that 'Deathsong' is just basic now. I'm glad it exists. I just don't like watching it."

Kat shoved her face within inches of Karl's and screeched. Karl's eyes went wide and he shrank back slightly, but he didn't soil himself or tumble out of his chair; Kat would regard it as a respectable response to the challenge. Brant certainly did.

"Is that any way to treat our guest, Katarek?" Brant asked.

"Captain!" Ahab said, standing and bowing as he noticed her.

Kat and Karl looked up. The man met Brant's eye for the first time, and his expression brightened. Brant hoped hers didn't do the same.

"Captain, this one is promising. He shows reasonably good taste in media, albeit with some very serious lapses. 'Deathsong' is too flat basic, he says – pah!" Kat hissed.

"Thank you for that assessment, Katarek. You two are dismissed."

Kat tapped her head in respect, Ahab bowed again, and the two left the medbay. Brant and 78 approached the table and sat. Brant took a calming breath, lightly clasped her hands in front of her, and held Karl's gaze.

"I'm Captain Charlotte Brant of the Federation."

The man held out his hand. "Karl Vossler, ma'am. Pleased to make your…"

Brant ignored his hand and kept going, keeping her tone flat. "I know. We've been monitoring your reactions to other crew, who were under instruction to act abrasive or unusual. Specifically, we were looking for signs of extreme pro-human or anti-xeno sentiment. Do I need to clarify why?"

"Uh…no, ma'am. I know the troubles you folks are having with the Rebels. I…well, did I pass?" He looked very nervous suddenly, but again, Brant couldn't glean anything from that reaction. Of course he was nervous. She'd just suggested he could be an enemy.

"Yes. I apologize for all this pantomime, and I'm going to be straightforward with you now. If you are a Rebel, now's the time to come clean. We couldn't detect any strong antipathy for the other races, and we figure even a hardcore revolutionary would be inclined to show some gratitude to the folks who saved him from slavers. Whatever your past allegiance, you would be welcome to join the crew until we reach a suitable port to drop you off. Mr. 78 here moonlights in the engine room, but we have need of a dedicated engineer. So: are you a Rebel, Karl?"

"Really? That would be great! It'd be my pleasure to…"

"Answer question," 78 said.

Karl swallowed a little. "I'm no Rebel, ma'am. I've just had some bad luck."

She stared him down. Her gut was telling her this guy was on the up-and-up, but her gut was trained by millions of years of evolution to seek community and build relationships among others like her. This could jeopardize the whole mission. But, so could flying without a full crew

She put out her hand. Karl looked cautiously, then took her hand and shook firmly.

Brant smiled. "Welcome aboard the Kestrel, Mr. Vossler."


	8. Chapter 8

Once, Brant might have thought it strange how quickly Karl took to his new lodgings, and how little he seemed to dwell on the ship he had allegedly been kidnapped from. Surely, she might once have thought, a man would want to know what had become of his former comrades and try to rejoin them, or at least get word to them. But that, she now knew, was not how the universe operated. Andrews had once told her about an aquatic animal on Earth called a shark, which had to always keep swimming to keep oxygenated water moving into its gills; if it ever stopped, it would suffocate. Spacefarers were all sharks, he'd said – always moving forward, no matter what happened, or else falling down dead. Certainly that comparison applied to Brant and her crew, if no one else.

He'd been aboard for a few days, working the engines through one uneventful jump and one encounter with a woefully outgunned AI scout. He hadn't tried to steer the ship into a star on either occasion, and that was about all she could glean from recent events about how much she could really trust him, whether in skill or loyalty. Time would tell, she supposed.

She knocked on the door to his quarters. By the time he called "Come in," she'd already opened the hatch and started striding in, hoping just a little bit that she'd see him talking to a hologram of a Rebel spymaster. Then at least she'd know where she stood with this guy. No such luck, though.

"Ah, captain!" Karl said quickly. He was sitting at a small table, a small box of booklets and magazines in front of him. He quickly rose and put his arms at his sides, looking a bit flustered.

"At ease," Brant said. She eyed the box, then looked back at Karl. "Have your quarters been comfortable?"

"Quite, captain. I was just looking through a box of, uh…I guess, thank you for the, uh…I mean, was this from you?"

"The box? No, everything in here belonged to the late Ensign Harlan Mickelson. I never discussed literature with him while he was with us – did he have good taste?"

"I won't speak ill of the dead, Captain Brant, much less one of your comrades. But…" Karl eyed the box again sheepishly. "Ensign Mickelson owned an alarming amount of pornography."

Ah. And here I thought he had some kind of hobby. "Yes, but did he have good taste in it?"

"Uh…I haven't fully inventoried his collection, ma'am."

"Well, make a note of your progress. We'll be leaving jump state in just under half an hour. You should report to your station. I just wanted to check on you and see how your introduction to the crew was going."

"Going well, thank you. I'm not sure whether the mantis girl wants to kill me or be best friends, but I reckon that's the way of it with mantis in general." He eyed her, thinking.

"Deciding whether to add 'women in general'? For the record, I don't want to kill you or be best friends."

"Thanks for the clarification, captain. All the same – thanks for letting me serve with you. I don't like to think about what the rest of my life would have been like if you hadn't come along."

"Probably much longer than it will be with us. Things are going to get pretty dicey as soon as we reach Rebel space, so you want to think long and hard about how far you want to extend this gratitude. You're free to go at the next port of call."

"Thank you, captain. If it's all the same to you, I think I'd like to stay. I want to tell you it has to do with my deep moral character, but really I just don't have anywhere better to be." He chuckled at this and she smirked. Smirked, and made a mental note that he was determined to stay aboard the Kestrel, just as a Rebel operative in his situation would be.

Brant got up and saw herself out. On her way to the bridge, she brought up a hologram of the ship's power allocations, double-checking one last time. The display shot out from the control unit on her wrist, and she liked what she saw. Damn, but the Kestrel was looking good.

Brant couldn't remember the last time she'd really thought they had a chance at pulling this mission off, but as she sat in her chair on the bridge studying the readouts, things were looking up. Engines were running optimally, shields were dense and fully-powered, weapons were well-stocked, and every post was manned. They couldn't face down a top-of-the-line battleship, but they could at least hold out long enough to run from one.

She nodded in satisfaction and flipped the display off. They would be transitioning out of jump state in a few minutes, and Brant gave them an 85% chance – hell, 90%! – of survival against whatever was waiting for them. It felt nice to have so much confidence.

"I know it's my turn for prayer, ensign, but you go ahead if you like. The Shaper and Preserver did right by us last time," Brant said to the hulking pilot sitting in front of her.

Toh didn't respond. He checked some of his instruments, but he didn't look back at her or say anything.

"Ensign Toh, did you hear me?"

"Yes, captain. I heard you," Toh said flatly.

Brant nodded. She'd been expecting some sort of confrontation, but the ensign had pointedly avoided her during their hours jumping away from the Cormorant. She decided it was best to give him space since he hadn't outright challenged her or anything, but now, heading into possible danger with a crew member who might question her command, she wasn't so sure about that decision.

"Whatever you've got to say, Toh, now's the time. Speak freely"

Toh didn't react immediately, and Brant worried that he'd just ignore her. Then he slowly rose from his chair and turned to her, hands at his side.

"What you did with 145 was disgusting, captain. Shaper knows I've got no love for pirates or traitors, but you pardoned and reinstated him. By your own authority, you killed him for no reason."

Yes, that's what she'd figured was up. "I offered him a pardon and reinstatement, Toh. He didn't accept."

Toh groaned. He didn't raise his voice or change his tone noticeably, but Brant knew enough about his people to know a level tone was not a sign of level emotion. "Captain, you known how you phrased it, and what you meant him to think. If I wanted to play tricks with words instead of just getting straight, honest talk, I'd have gone to work for the slugs."

"I had to preoccupy an enemy to buy Kat an edge on a blind boarding action. I'll always talk straight with you, Toh, and here's some straight talk: if I have to break a rule or two to save my ship and my crew, I'm going to do it every single time. A traitor is dead and our ship is in better shape than ever, and I won't apologize for that."

"To strengthen the body at the cost of the spirit is to weaken the whole, captain." That sounded like a quote, probably from the Preserver's Covenant or some other scripture. "You killed a Federation officer who had been pardoned of all his crimes. I'm not an idiot and I realize the stakes, captain, but when this is all over, I have to report your actions to the admiralty."

Brant bit her tongue hard and felt every muscle in her face stiffen with the effort to avoid laughing out loud, loud and rich and insanely. They were probably going to die before the mission was out, but if did they succeed and the intel they carried really did save the Federation, then High Command wouldn't give a damn what she'd done. She could have been shoveling little Zoltan babies into the reactor for the past month just to boost their power output a smidge, and she'd still get every medal they had plus a few extra they made up just for her. Some of the Rebels' complaints about the Federation's morals were well-founded.

"When this is all over, ensign, I will submit to any investigation that High Command wishes to open. Until then, do we have a problem?"

"If you will agree to one condition, yeah."

Brant exhaled – she didn't even realize she'd been holding her breath until that breath came out in ragged frustration, almost a growl. Would just a plain old "yes" have been so hard?

"And that would be?"

"Your carpenter-god. You ought to pray to him more. It's…lonely out here. It's easy to get confused and untethered, and I don't want you losing your way. This ain't even a condition, really – yeah, I'll follow orders, watch your back and all. It's my ass too if we don't make it. But…just once a day, at least. I want you to say you'll talk to your god a little."

Brant couldn't think of what to say for a moment. Besides the rocks and the humans, no spacefarers had held on to their religious roots; she did not have as long a history with the ensign as she did with 78, and she did not have quite the warriors' rapport with him that she did with Katarek, but he was the only person on the crew that she could talk about God with.

"I will make an effort, Toh," she said.

"Thank you, captain," he said. He eased back into his seat. "Exiting jump state in two minutes."

"Exiting jump state in two minutes," Brant said over the crew com frequency. "Weapons and shields, stand by."

The usual wave of vertigo flooded over her as the ship breached into physical reality again, and she had to admit to having an trigger finger. She pictured some simpering, baby-faced Rebel captain seeing them materialize at the jump beacon, recognizing her ship as a Kestrel and assuming they'd be easy prey, thinking all like "What a lucky dude I am, finding some crappy Federation craft out here that I can take without any effort at all, this'll be SOOOO fun. Oh, whoops! They're actually really well-armed! The Kestrel is blowing us up really easily! Oh, no, I'm bleeding out right on my nice Rebel bridge! That Kestrel must have one tough, sexy bitch at the helm, but I guess I'll never know because now I'm dead, bye!"

"No sign of active craft, captain," Toh said.

"Dang it. We get her all dressed up, and now no one'll dance with her," Brant said, studying the readouts herself. They were at the very edge of the nebula now, with the next jump set to finally take them out of the Cloud, but even with the nebula's interference it was obvious that no ships in the Kestrel's class were in the area, at least none that were operational. A few small derelicts were floating around the jump beacon, giving off no energy signatures at all…

Wait a second. "I'm picking something up. Very faint, but one of those wrecks has power. 78, look over the readings and see if you can…"

Gunfire resounded through the corridor.

Oh, frack.

"All hands, ready close quarters weaponry! Enemy troops have beamed aboard!"

She shot out of her chair, brandishing her sidearm in one hand and flourishing her power baton in the other, extending and igniting it. She faced the door to the bridge and listened over the com channel in her ear, but heard only static.

"I'm afraid they can't hear you," said a female voice, calm and thick with the accent of an inner sector city. "We've jammed all channels. This vessel is now under the command of the Rebel fleet. You are ordered to throw down your arms and stand down. Your mantis is badly wounded and needs medical attention, so I suggest you obey."

As much as they'd built up the ship and as much experience as they had at their posts, Brant suddenly felt naked. All the scrap and all the high-end weapon systems in the world amounted to nothing in a close-quarters scrap, and she did not believe the Rebel was bluffing about Kat. She couldn't communicate with her crew, and her best combatant was down. Kat might have taken a few down with her, but the fact that they'd taken her down at all meant these folks knew their business.

Even without com channels, the Kestrel had a standard procedure for these situations. Ahab and 78, who were generally not as capable in a fight, would dig into defensive positions in the medbay. Toh and Brant would engage with the enemy while Kat flanked them. Kat was really the killer there, striking with a ferocity that tended to break most opponents.

And there was also Karl, now. And like that, Brant started wondering if it was really a coincidence that a Rebel commando team had ambushed them so soon after they'd picked him up…

Brant brought up her holographic display of the ship. Karl was in engineering for the moment, no doubt getting ready to join the battle. But on whose side? Brant sighed. This could be the decision that killed them all, but that made it no different from most of her decisions as captain.

She flicked some switches on the display and ordered the doors to engineering shut and locked.

"Toh, you're with me!" Brant barked. "We've got to meet up with the others before they take us all down one by one."

The pilot was already lurching toward her. He had a pistol out, and considering the sheer mass his body had, he didn't need much more in the way of melee weapons. "Lead on."

Toh and Brant stalked out of the bridge together, weapons trained ahead of them. The corridors of the Kestrel offered almost no cover, so Brant crept behind Toh as he huffed along at a ponderous gait. The ensign was far from indestructible, but he could take a good bit more punishment than a human.

There was still nothing but static coming over the com link. 78 was probably working on that at the moment, as he'd reached the medbay and hadn't been murdered yet; if he got through, she was sure she'd hear from him. Still, at least the enemy was listening.

"You don't actually expect us to surrender, do you?" Brant said into her link.

"I figure I gotta' at least try," said the same Rebel she'd spoken to before. "Federation crew, hear this: the captain's got two minutes to come downa' the shields room and give up the ship's control codes, or we kill the mantis before goin' room by room and killin' every single one of ya'." Her voice lilted with that same obnoxious, sing-songy street accent, making the mockery somehow sting that much worse. "You lot've got some reputation, I'll give ya' that, but we've been gettin' ready for just this occasion. Give up, or you die."

The line went dead, and Brant scowled at Toh.

"It's an obvious trap," said Toh.

"That it is. But then the threat is credible, and surrender is suicide. Bad choices all around here, but only one of them maybe saves Katarek. We fight. Hopefully 8 and Ahab are on the same page. We'll need the backup."

Toh nodded and kept moving, muttering a prayer softly to himself. Brant crossed herself with her baton and gave the best prayer she had available at the moment:

"Lord, get us through today."

They reached a bend in the corridor, and she knew that around this corner they'd be able to see the hatch to the shield control room. This was the only approach to shields, and chances were they'd be under heavy fire as soon they got in line of sight with the hatch. She signaled Toh to pause, and they crouched just out of sight from shield control. She needed to plan this out, and fast.

OK, so…options. They could bum rush the door, Brant using Toh as cover; the ensign would be blown apart, but Brant would at least get close enough to join in close combat, where she'd be hopelessly outnumbered and promptly killed.

She could set her sidearm to catastrophically overload and lob it in to the control room as a grenade, just like they'd tried with Katarek all those weeks ago – had it only been weeks? It seemed so much longer – no, back on task, Charlotte. It would certainly kill Kat this time if it hadn't last, and it might not kill the…

Running footsteps, coming down the hall, from the control room, a lot of footsteps, frack frack frack.

Apparently, the other option was to wait until their arrival was noticed and the enemy brought the fight to them, and Brant did not like that option at all. She sprang to her feet, snapping her neck back to see if there was any cover nearby. The door to her quarters was fifty feet away behind them. She might be able to run for it, but Toh definitely couldn't, and if they separated they would be easy pickings.

Toh and Brant exchanged frowns.

"Well, then," said Brant.

She rounded the corner, leading with her pistol and firing blindly at first. In her mind's eye it was Ahab and 78 charging toward them, looking on with horror as their unwitting captain mowed them down, and so for a moment she actually felt relief to see the five grim strangers with familiar grey uniforms bearing down on her, shouting for her to surrender. One took a plasma round to the head and fell in a convulsing heap, another was staggered with a shot to the arm, but that was all the luck she got. In the next instant, the Rebels were on them.

She swung her power baton, knocking one in his chest so hard that she felt the impact in her teeth. When ignited, the tip of the baton pulsed with a tiny mass field, a heavily modified version of the same tech that powered the ship's jump drive; essentially, it felt like the stick weighed a few pounds to her, and felt like it weighed several hundred to whatever it struck. The Rebel's chest caved in with a thud, and he tumbled back toward the shield room hard enough to knock one of his comrades over. One Rebel, a male with horirble burn scars, swiped at her with a crackling powerknife; she hopped back to dodge, then brought the baton crunching into his head with her backswing.

Three down, two to go. She couldn't believe their luck. Toh had stepped in front of her, chunks of his thick dense epidermis flying off as the remaining two Rebels tried to double back, firing as they went. Brant couldn't believe her luck that they hadn't gotten any rounds off during their charge, but then she tried to lift her sidearm and realized she couldn't feel that arm. She looked, and saw a mess of red and charred black on her bicep. Ah. Not so lucky after all.

Well, best not to let the adrenaline wear off.

One of the two Rebels, a scruffy kid, yelped out as Toh grabbed his arm, pulling him forward and planting a stoney fist in his face. The kid didn't yelp any more after that. The remaining Rebel howled at the sight, blasting away at Toh with single-minded fury. It took him half a second to switch that focus to Brant as she dodged around Toh and dashed forward. It took Brant a little less than half a second to destroy his knees with a low swipe of the the baton. The man toppled onto his back, his gun clattering away from him. He raised a hand to Brant, his eyes wide with fear.

"Please, I surrender, I sur -"

Brant lifted the baton again and slammed it into his skull.

It got real quiet in the corridor. Brant was starting to feel the pain in her gun arm, which was good and bad; some of the nerve endings still worked, at least, so maybe it was salvageable. She looked herself over, and decided the arm was her only serious wound. Toh, on the other hand...

"Captain, I..." The ensign turned to her and fell to one knee. Molten blood was seeping out of a dozen wounds. None looked fatal on their own, but all together...

"You and Kat need the medbay, now," Brant said. She put the baton back in its holster and looked around for where she dropped her sidearm. That hand still wouldn't move, but the gun was probably a better choice if she could only have one weapon.

"Well...if you insist, captain," Toh said. "Your arm..."

"I'm fine," Brant said quickly. "There can't be too many left. Let's wait for the others and finish this."

She double-checked that logic. Standard transport beams could only send two folks at a time, four with more advanced models, but she'd heard of specialized models the Rebels had tested that could send as many as eight. All the fallen Rebels around her were male, so she had at least the woman she'd been talking to to contend with, and maybe two more. Even if Kat had taken one out with her, Brant didn't like the odds of her and Toh in an even fight.

The silence drew out. Where was 78? Where was Ahab?

"I don't like this," Toh grunted. "Something's wrong."

No, something didn't feel right at all. Brant edged closer to the shield room, listening closely. Toh limped behind her slowly. She heard the thrumming of her blood in her ears and a few random creaks of the starship around her, but nothing else.

A sinking feeling came over her.

"Where are you?" she growled into her com link.

"Can't figure it out?" asked the Rebel woman. Brant heard her over the link, but still heard nothing from the room a few feet away. "Here - I'll give you a hint."

An alert sounded in her ears. Her eye shot to her wrist display.

The medbay was offline.

"They're in the med bay!" Brant called.

78 and Ahab needed help.

They needed to hurry, and fight while they still had a numbers advantage.

Where was Katarek?

"Go - I'll only slow you down," Toh said, and it was very true. Brant nodded and started dashing off toward the medbay, but she stopped short.

Where was Kat?

Brant turned and charged into the room, gun raised, though she now expected the room to be empty. It almost was.

Kat was sprawled across the shield console. There were drops of red human blood on the ground, but they were hard to see amidst the growing puddles of dark green blood dripping out of Kat. The damage to the console and the wall behind her and the sheer devastation done to her body illustrated the scene for Brant. They'd teleported in behind Kat; she'd gotten a few swipes out, maybe seriously wounded one or two, but she'd never stood a chance. They'd shot her at least thirty times; five of them had stayed, and whoever else had come aboard had moved out.

Brant needed to hurry. 78 and Ahab were still alive, and they needed her.

"Oh, God," Brant whispered. She crossed herself. "Oh, Kat."

Toh lurched into the doorway. He swung himself around the door frame and sat just inside, ready to defend the doorway.

He looked intensely at Kat, then back at the captain.

"Stay with her," Brant said. "Say something for her."

And she was off down the corridor, toward the medbay.


	9. Chapter 9

Brant stretched her arms and shook out her legs. She was in the ship's tiny rec area, which was little more than a vid screen, a table, and a punching bag. She'd put on a training outfit that left her feeling a little exposed, but then, who'd care about seeing her scantily dressed? It wasn't like there were any humans around anymore.

She didn't feel like crying. Was that a sign of strength or coldness?

The punching bag shook as she threw out a series of jabs. God, she hadn't done any boxing since her colony days - what the hell was she even doing right now? She should be looking over readouts, or reviewing old intel on this sector, or, God help them all, rereading some of those stupid books about leadership from her academy coursework. Anything that might help even a little bit, now that...

She gave the bag the hardest roundhouse she could muster and found the impact unsatisfying, so she followed up with a right hook. That stung her knuckles, but not good enough. Another punch, another kick, another, another. Her breath started speeding up and she heard clearly the ragged hitching of emotion in those breaths. But _no_ - that would not do, not now. Maybe in her quarters later, but not now, not where anyone might walk in. Or would the stupid aliens even realize what water coming out the eyes meant?

_Captain,_ she thought. _Captain._

The hatch opened, and Katarek skittered in. She had a media stick in one pincer and a bag of dried meat in the other.

"Ah, lieutenant - I was not expecting you in here."

Brant wiped at her forehead and sighed. "Captain," she said. "It's captain now, Kat."

"Ah! I apologize. Old habits - it will not be a problem, captain," Kat said. She sounded sincere enough, but Katarek had poked and prodded at the limits of Andrews' authority enough that this was probably intentional. "I was going to watch some vids, but I can go to my quarters if you're..." The mantis eyed the punching bag. "...what is it you're doing, exactly?"

"This? We call it boxing. A sport of structured hand-to-hand combat," Brant said.

"You...don't expect it to be useful in the near future, do you?" Kat asked. She skittered into the room and placed the media stick and the bag of meat on the table, then skittered over to the punching bag, eying it quizzically. "Shooting at a dummy can make you a better shot, sure, but I don't see how fighting a bag will help you fight a live foe."

Katarek poked hard at the punching bag, her pincer piercing the tough exterior. A little tuft of stuffing poked out of the hole she left. Brant shut her eyes and breathed in. "Katarek, I...no, I'm just trying to let off some steam."

Kat cocked her head at Brant, looking at her intensely for a moment. The mantis cocked her head and clicked a few times, and it was all Brant could do to avoid screaming at the insectoid to get out of her face and...

"Ah. Of course. I...I will leave," Kat said. She scrambled over to the table to collect her belongings. "I did not...I apologize, captain."

Great! Now Brant felt like a jerk, too. "Kat, it's fine! You can watch your..." But the mantis was already gone. She went through a few exercises on the punching bag, but she didn't feel much like boxing after all. It wasn't getting the feelings out like she'd hoped, and it was like Kat said: no matter how mean her right cross got, it was unlikely to make much difference against a mantis or an antipersonnel drone.

She was seriously considering taking out her pistol and blasting the bag into pulp when Kat returned, this time carrying a small satchel.

"Ah, good. I think I could stand to watch some mindless combat for a few hours," Brant said. She wiped her forehead with a towel, and sat back in one of the chairs.

"_Thoughtless_? That's an outrage! The choreography, the _artistry_ in those films, is…" Kat had puffed herself up to her full height, then made an effort to calm herself down. "No. That's not why I'm here. You just looked so pathetic punching this stuffed bag, and I was hoping to help you be less pathetic."

Brant's eyes bugged out a little, and she held her hands out around her head for an exasperated moment before she found words. "I wasn't _really_ doing combat training, Kat. I just...I don't _feel_ very good, and I was just trying to hit something until I felt better."

Kat giggled. "My entire life philosophy, captain. I knew I liked you." She approached Brant and dropped the satchel on the table with a thunk. There was something heavy and metallic in there. "Andrews picked a worthy successor."

If hitting the punching bag repeatedly for fifteen minutes hadn't made her feel better, it had at least tired her out somewhat. Some part of her howled _WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT IT?!_ but she just nodded, frowned, and said "He'd better have."

Katarek nodded and clicked inscrutably. She seemed uncomfortable, hesitant.

"Out with it, Kat."

"Uh...yes. Are you familiar with the funerary traditions of the Katalpik?"

"I don't even know what that is."

"They're my people, a mantis ethnicity. We...believe that when a member of the war band dies, it creates a weakness in the band itself. Not just because we're down a member, either. More because everything that warrior brought to the group, every combat strength and every personality quirk, was part of what made the group function. We try to reduce this damage to the band by...recycling, we call it."

"If you are suggesting we eat Andrews' body..."

"Not unheard of, but that's not what I'm talking about. We keep our comrades' memory alive by taking on their behaviors, their tastes, their fighting style, whatever they bought to the group. We have never been good at saying words for the dead or building memorials. We remember the dead through our actions."

Brant looked at Katarek for a moment. That actually sounded like a good system, but Brant wasn't sure she liked where the mantis was going. "Yeah? Is there some trait of Andrews you were thinking of taking up?"

"I did not know the captain very well. It might be in poor taste to take from someone who was only briefly my comrade. I don't mention it for me." Katarek reached into the satchel and pulled out a solid metal cylinder, two inches wide and a foot long. Andrews' power baton. "I think you should learn how to use this, captain."

Brant raised her eyebrows. She'd seen him use this a few times, and it was a terrible thing in the right hands, a captain's weapon indeed.

"Not just because you looked truly pathetic punching the stuffed bag, either. I...I think this could help you to…not feel bad."

Brant reached out cautiously for the weapon. It was Brant's by right now, but she'd completely forgotten about it in the rush of new responsibilities. She extended it and held it up to her face, turning it over.

"It would be a shame to let it go to waste, if nothing else," Brant said. "I don't have any training in it, though. I hear these can be just as dangerous to the user, improperly handled."

"Ah - in that, I may be able to help." Kat slammed her pincers into the side of the table and heaved, flipping it away from them and advancing on the captain. Brant spilled out of her chair and rolled away, landing in a crouch as Kat bore down on her, bringing her right pincer down in a savage arc toward Brant's head. Brant threw the baton up to catch the blow, but Kat stopped short with a disapproving click.

"Oooh - we've got a lot to do. First lesson - don't ever parry like that," Kat said. "You're holding it in front of you. If I hit you hard enough like this, I'll knock the tip of the baton right into you, and even at low speed it would cause damage." The mantis reached out and gently grasped Brant's hands, wiggling the baton back and forth. "Block like that. Focus on deflecting, not stopping."

Brant wanted to tell Kat that she was in no mood at all for combat instruction right now, and for God's sake didn't she understand that humans need space to grieve?

But really, this was better.

Without a word of warning, Brant leapt at Kat, sweeping back and forth with the baton. She didn't ignite it, so its full lethal force was kept dormant, but a strike landing home might still require a trip to the medbay. Kat laughed, dodging the strikes or deflecting them, then struck low and swept Brant's feet out. She fell on her back, her teeth clicking together, then leapt right back up.

"Not bad for a mammal, eh?"

"No, but that's setting the bar pretty low," Kat said. She pounced at Brant, who batted away Kat's slashes and rushed in to throw her shoulder into the mantis. Kat stumbled backward, surprised that the captain had closed with her, and only just sidestepped as Brant lashed out with the baton. The weapon grazed Kat on her pincer, and Kat laughed excitedly.

"Yes! That would have taken my arm off!" Kat cheered. "Your grief is yours, captain! Make it serve you! Make it a weapon! Come! _Again_!"

They didn't talk much more as they traded blows for the next half hour. By that time, Brant was a mess of blood, bruises, and cuts, and Kat's carapace had caved in in several places. And Brant couldn't stop smiling, even as she lay down in the medbay and finally, exhausted, started to cry.

They sparred at least half an hour a day from that point on, for the rest of Katarek's life.

Was she going the right way?

Brant could have made her way to the medbay blindfolded if she had to. This ship had been her whole life for months, and she'd had to navigate its corridors through low power, through billows of smoke, and more than once with the threat of hostile forces on board. On top of that, it wasn't a big ship. She knew she wasn't lost, but her mind rushed to come up with any other reason why it would be so quiet in here as she approached the medbay.

She stumbled on, awkwardly clutching her numb arm and her pistol in one hand. She dug around in the packs at her belt and took out a tiny vial of combat stimulant, jamming the microsyringe into her leg. She inhaled sharply, drug-induced clarity flooding her senses, her pain fading into the distant background. Her arm still refused to move.

The hatch to the medbay stood in the corridor just ahead of her, shut. The corridor remained quiet as the vacuum. Katarek was dead.

Brant stopped. She had to assume she was alone in the fight now, holding the emotions that came with that realization at arms' length. Katarek was dead, and with her they'd lost their berserker, their wild killer whose fury could break the enemy.

_Your grief is yours. Make it a weapon._

She could be going in one against three, with the enemy dug in and expecting her, and she was badly wounded herself. She thought about Karl, and the more she thought about him, the more confident she felt in her decision to lock him up; the enemy knew their ship layout and their systems too well to chalk up to coincidence. So she holstered her pistol and, the stimulant still numbing the pain, grabbed at the awful wound on her arm. It was mostly cauterized, but she squeezed it enough to get her hand good and bloody. She smeared her face with red, and she ripped off her patch to expose the twisted scar tissue where her eye had been. She had no illusions about her odds of surviving the next few minutes, but she told herself that just one slight moment of shock in the enemy could mean the difference between her getting shot like a dog and killing one or two before getting shot like a dog.

She told herself this. Really, she was feeling sentimental, and she decided that if she was going to die, she'd like to die the way Katarek should have.

She took two pouches off her belt. One had a multitool in it and the other had some nuts in case she wanted a snack; she hefted them to check their weight, then nodded to herself.

_Well, Charlotte,_ she thought. _Time to make an exit._

She hurled herself at the medbay door, opening it remotely with her wrist unit as she approached, and she screamed low and brutal. Just as she approached the threshold, she threw the pouches into the middle of the medbay; as she'd hoped, she entered the room to see three human forms throwing themselves behind cover away from her supposed grenades. She charged on; she leapt up on top of an autodoc table and picked a target, a tall, bearded Rebel who'd crouched behind the table next to hers. He was alert and ready for her, raising his pistol just as she leapt into his sight; her opening shot grazed his shoulder, a spasm of pain rocking his body and making his own shot go wide. She pounced at him, firing down at him as she went, but he managed to roll away and compose himself just as Brant bore down on him.

On the one hand, closing with only a pistol out and only one working arm was a terrible idea, especially against a larger opponent. On the other hand, Katarek was dead. Brant threw herself on top of the Rebel hard enough to knock him flat. He grabbed both of her wrists, easily pushing away the gun. Katarek was dead. Brant snarled and slammed her forehead into his once, twice. This was a disciplined soldier, but she saw the onset of panic on his bloodied face, felt it in his tensing muscles. Still, his grip held fast, and she couldn't bring the gun down to finish him. Katarek was dead. Katarek was dead.

Brant snapped her jaws down on the man's throat and shook her head, and that did it. His grip gave just enough for her to wrench her pistol free and jam it into his armpit, pointing it right at his heart, pointe blank. She'd take him out, then she'd worry about the others, maybe take one more with her, but no. Something hit her in the side, and her every muscle went limp at once.

"Jesus, God," the Rebel under her said. He kicked her off and scrambled away from her. "She bit me! Crazy girl bit me!"

Brant tried to summon up an appropriate obscenity, but she was surprised just to realize she was still alive. She willed herself to move, but got only minimal response from her body, not enough to do anything as she felt someone grab her arms and lock her hands into restraints behind her back. She was kicked in the side hard enough to turn over, and she found herself face to face with a short, frail-looking woman with a shaved, tattooed head, hard eyes, and a pistol trained down at Brant's face.

"That was a stun round," the woman said, still in that same annoying sing-song accent, and still with reasonable good humor. "I think a full-power shot would rather improve that nasty cyclops face of yours, so you're gonna' want to listen real close if you want to keep breathin'."

Brant tried to speak, but her mouth felt full of cotton. She took stock of the situation in the room. The Rebel she'd attacked was stumbling over to guard the door, poking at the shallow yet ugly wound she'd left on his throat. There was one more Rebel standing against the far wall of the medbay, a pistol ready, his attention divided between Brant and his two prisoners, kneeling and restrained next to him. Ahab's fine coat was torn and his body shone only dimly, and 78 was dented and missing a leg, but they were both alive, and looking at her with surprise.

"Not your best look, captain," 78 said, his voice heavy with static. "But...you make it work."

"The handcuffs are particularly objectionable," Ahab muttered. "You should lose them."

"I've got to say, you lot do live up to your reputation. Whatever you did to piss off Command, they want you something fierce. We'll be able to buy a resort world with what we'll get for bringing you in alive."

"Real fancy-like," said the man guarding Ahab and 78.

"So, introductions. That over there is Angel." She nodded over to the man who'd just spoken, who grinned. "The fellow over there that you chewed up is Grisham. And I'm Captain Lilian McRee. And judging by the intel we got on this crew, you're Charlotte Brant."

Brant slowly got the use of her limbs back, only to find that her restraints were secure and that she didn't have anything nice to say.

"Burn in Hell," Brant said.

"Oh, dear, you're in a mood," McRee said. "I take it you found what was left of your shields engineer."

78's face flickered yellow, then went black. "Katarek is dead?"

"I promise you, before this is over, you will pay tenfold for killing her," Brant growled. She smirked joylessly. "And considering what we did to the guard you left, you're already halfway there."

78 whined loudly, his face shining red as he attempted to struggle to his feet. Angel slapped him back down and McCree kicked Brant back to the ground.

"Listen to yourself! How many wars have the mantis started, just in living memory? How many slaving operations are they running right now? And you're threatening a _fellow human_ for taking one of those monsters out of circulation?"

McCree had hate in her eyes to match Brant's own. Brant breathed in and out, trying to calm down. She had to think. Toh might be following her in shortly, and...he was too bruised up to count for much. Karl...was locked up and very likely a rat. Katarek was dead.

78 struggled to get back up to a kneeling position, but with one leg gone it was in vain. Ahab sat serenely, his eyes closed and his aura still faint, apparently meditating.

"Ah...but I don't want to get on a rant. We've just about got what we came for, so let's wrap this up," McRee said. She touched her wrist unit, the hate replaced with a smug grin. "Let's get the man of the hour in here. Channels are open now. Tell him we've got you in the medbay, and to come on down so we can beam off and have done with it. And if you could possibly sound real pathetic when you do it, that'd be extra nice."

Brant thought she would have run out of anger by this point, but nope. On closer inspection, she found she had quite a reservoir of rage left.

"He sold us out..."

"What? Oh no, no, no, Charlotte. You have to see: you sold yourself out." McRee knelt down to eye level with Brant and put her hands on Brant's shoulders. She kept talking as if explaining something to a small child. Brant tried to fumble for her power baton, but with both hands tied up and only one hand working, it was not a thing she could do subtly. "You betrayed the heritage of Earth. You sacrificed humanity's destiny for...what, the company of xenos? You made the choice to abandon your race all on your own." McRee sighed and got back to her feet. "And if you thought what we did to the mantis was bad, then just wait 'til you see what we do with traitors like you. Now call him in."

Brant didn't move. What was there to do? The only avenue of rebellion still open to her was to resist this last insult to call her betrayer in, so she lay on the ground quietly.

_Well...we always knew it was a longshot._

McRee rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. I'll call him myself. Come in, captain! Damion Andrews, wherever you are, I want to let you know that we've got your hussy captive in the medbay. Come to us with your hands over your head, or we will execute her in two minutes, with one of your aliens to follow two minutes after that. Better hustle, cap'n!"

"Wait," Brant said. "You're looking for Andrews?"

"Who'd you think I was talking about?" McRee asked, suspicious. "Grisham, keep alert. Sounds like there's..."

It all went to hell in the next two seconds. The air vent above Angel's head exploded, gobs of plasma fire streaking out of it. Ahab stood, turned his back on Angel, and projected a blast a brilliant green energy out of his hands into his captor's face. A round from the duct took Grisham in the abdomen, and the Rebel went down. And as McRee turned to deal with these disruptions, Brant finally teased the baton out of her belt; in the one working hand behind her back, she extended it and ignited it. Then she spun on her knees and brought the weapon slamming into McRee's calves.

And like that, it was over. Grisham was still alive, but he lay in the doorway, paralyzed with pain from his gut wound. Angel was similarly out of commission, staggering around blindly, clutching at his face. McRee alone seemed to have some fight left in her: her legs were a very painful-looking mess from the knees down and she'd dropped her pistol, but she was dragging herself over to it. Brant got to her feet, strode over to the gun, and kicked it away. She looked down with a blank expression at the Rebel captain.

"Andrews is dead," Brant said. "I'm the captain now."

Brant didn't feel very good at the moment. She kicked McRee in the face, in the gut, in the back, everywhere she could, and was thinking she'd just keep kicking until she felt better, though that'd probably be an awful lot of kicking.

A large, hard hand fell softly on her back and pulled her away from the Rebel captain.

"Captain..." Toh said. She turned to see him looking terrible, leaning heavily against a nearby table and much of his molten blood already cooling and hardening outside of his wounds.

Ahab had freed himself and 78 with Angel's keys, and 78 was busy reattaching his leg. Karl was trying to jimmy the air vent loose so he could get out.

"Sorry I'm late, ma'am," Karl said. "They must have hacked the door controls."

Toh's hand was still on Brant's shoulder. She returned his molten gaze. She tasted blood in her mouth, and didn't know if it was hers.

"I'll tell him," she said softly. "Not right now, though."

"Good thing I've got a narrow frame, I guess," Karl called out. The vent finally came loose and he slowly began to back out of the hole, his legs dangling above the floor.

Ahab came up with the restraint key and let Brant go; she immediately put the cuffs on McRee. "I'm going to go get us in jump. Toh, 78, I want the medbay operational in five minutes. Ahab, Karl, I want the prisoners stabilized and escorted to the brig. Ahab - how are you at interrogation?"

The zoltan flashed an upsetting smile. "Second to none, captain."

"Good. Prep them." Charlotte turned and hurried out of the room. She heard clunking metal steps following her and pretended not to.

"Captain!" 78 called. She kept walking, but she could only go so fast at this point and he quickly caught up. "Captain...Katarek..."1

_Oh, to hell with it. _Brant turned and grabbed the engi, pulling him against her and holding him. 78 shook and returned the embrace. She let out one sob, but she couldn't let that dam break yet. The ship was still vulnerable. Her crew still needed her.

"We'll be okay," she whispered. "Soon. There will be time to mourn soon."

"Katarek wouldn't want us to mourn," 78 whispered back, his voice warbling and breaking off. What he said next, though, was clear as a cold mountain lake. "Would want us to avenge."

"I know." Another tear fell from her eye, and she pulled 78 closer for one last moment. "There will be time for that, too."


	10. Chapter 10

There was no funeral. In keeping with her wishes, Katarek's body was jettisoned out of an airlock, with no one but Brant herself in attendance. The tens of billions of mantis in the galaxy had as many customs and philosophies as Brant's people, but they were generally an unsentimental species, with Katarek no exception. After Mickelson's funeral, Katarek had made it clear that she didn't want anyone messing with her inanimate remains, saying anything sappy, or generally making a scene. The crew had gathered in the recreation room, toasted her memory with the preferred intoxicants of their species, and then gotten back to work. They had to.

They were in jump for ten hours, and between treating her arm and helping 78 check the ship for any further sabotage, Brant had had only a few hours to sleep, and she needed what she could get. She woke an hour before their expected ETA at the long-range hub, and she promptly made her way down to the weapons room.

Ahab and 78 were sitting together. Ahab was stark naked, fussing with a needle and thread over the wreck of his ostentatious coat. There was nothing uncomfortable about this; since ascending beyond strictly biological forms, the Zoltan anatomy had become very sparse, devoid of hair, pores, sex organs, or any other noteworthy feature, leaving only the frail, glowing notion of a humanoid body. He had a holoscreen up on his weapons' console, but he wasn't looking at it. He and 78 were both watching the vid projecting on the wall instead.

"What the hell are those?" Brant asked as she looked closer at the projection. A single mantis stood in the middle of a large sandy ring, surrounded by fifty brutish, knobby creatures, half-covered in spiky quills and the other half dripping with mucus and slime. Hideous growths of flesh bulged out of their chests and crotches. Some had awkward shrouds of cloth draped over their shoulders or stitched into what could only loosely be called "pants."

78 thrummed with laughter. "Must understand. 'Deathsong of Chaka Harakat,' filmed over two hundred standard years ago. Contact with human race by mantis race still very sparse – humanity still only a rumored threat at edge of mantis space. Little reliable information on anatomy or culture."

Brant raised her eyebrows. "Those are _humans_?"

"Stage automata built to resemble humans, at least. Or what most mantis thought humans looked like," Ahab said. Brant looked closer and realized the clubs bore some faint resemblance to old plasma rifle designs, and the portrayal suddenly brought to mind modern human stereotypes.

"I find this highly offensive. Why in God's name are _we _considered the 'slimy race' over the slugs? There is no justice in the universe."

"'Slimy' less than optimal word choice. Human species more accurately considered…" 78 looked around at Ahab for help. "Drippy?"

"I would say greasy, more than anything," Ahab said. "Or just generally wet."

"Come on! But the slugs…" Brant started.

"Slug epidermis constantly secretes light layer of mucus, yes. Human eye secretes discharge in response to emotional duress, human nose secretes mucus in response to nasal infection and cold atmosphere, human skin secretes oil and perspiration constantly," 78 said, counting the different discharges off on his metal fingers. "Tastefully omitting all solid and liquid wastes, digestive system regurgitation, and reproductive processes."

"What can you expect of an organic race from a water planet, though? I say, relish in the vast variety of life in the cosmos, however greasy some of it is," Ahab said.

The mantis had gotten very busy on the screen, butchering the "humans" as they charged left and right, each exploding with blood and viscera like a burst melon at every glancing blow from the mantis.

"Ahh – I do see what she liked about this," Ahab said, putting his stitching aside and pausing the vid. "Though I suspect you did not come to enjoy a gladiator drama, captain."

"Well…if it's for Kat, then maybe. But for now, no. We're getting to the long-range hub, and I wanted to see what you've learned from the captives so far."

"Oh, nothing at all. I have not asked them so much as their full names yet," Ahab said. He turned in his chair to face the holoscreen behind him, and Brant noted it was a live feed of their cell in the brig. The two male prisoners were lying on their cots, one with a load of gauze over his eyes and one clutching painfully at a bandage over his stomach. McRee was pacing back and forth in front of the bars.

Brant did not bother to note that she'd told him to prep them for interrogation. He would not so brazenly ignore an order, especially one right up his alley like this. She just waited for him to go on.

"They are clearly well-trained, and I'm sure they've been trained to resist interrogation. If we press them immediately, they will think we need the information they have immediately, and they will resist that much harder. No, I think they will be more pliant if we let them languish for a bit. Let them think we don't care."

"But…do need information immediately," 78 said. "Need to know who sent them, what they know about us, whether they know what it is we're carrying,"

Brant thought of the heavily-encrypted intel packet they were carrying back to Federation command and thought _Because I'd sure like to know._

"Much of that we can infer or learn at the hub. If there is no bounty posted for us, then we know our cargo is important enough that the Rebels do not want anyone else getting hold of it," Ahab said. "Which in turn means our friends in the brig are likely trusted operatives, not mere rank and file. All the more reason to employ advanced techniques – you note how only the female was fully treated in our medbay?" He pointed at McRee.

"I do. The others are stabilized as ordered, correct?" Brant asked.

"Stabilized, but still in bad shape. I am providing the female with medical supplies and rations for her comrades, and as planned, she has been quite diligent in changing bandages and administering all necessary care. You see, your species takes care of its young for many years, and your bodies evolved to compensate you for the effort with emotional dividends. It is in your nature to develop attachments to those you nurture closely." The zoltan eyed the screen and smiled one of his more disconcerting smiles. "I can work with that."

"Ahab, you are a scary little dude," Brant said. "But do what you have to. I'm going aboard the hub in force, just in case things get dicey. The ship's yours until we get back."

"Very good, captain." Ahab held the coat up to his face to inspect the stitch he'd just completed, and he clucked disapprovingly. "If you happen to find a tailor…oh, never mind. I shall persevere."

"Hang in there, big guy," Brant said. "8, you're with me."

The engi followed her out, and they walked briskly down the corridor together.

"How are you doing?" Brant asked quietly.

78's face blinked blue and red. "Fine. Refreshing familiarity with shield systems. Allocating grief processes to background until I can spare processing power to fully address."

Once, Brant might have thought about how inhuman and detached this sounded, but she knew better now. "Yeah, me too. Can't afford to slow down yet. What's our intel on the Tefinix hub?"

"Sparse. Tefinix Cloud has dangerous reputation and few habitable worlds, but for those merchant nations that do operate here, the Hub is the only civilized outpost on this side of the nebula. It is slug-operated and primarily caters to trade and military vessels crossing the Cloud."

"Which means it caters mainly to rough costumers."

"Accurate assessment. Chance to encounter cheerful folk with ships full of pastries and baby animals: near zero. Hub operators have decent reputations, at least."

"They're slugs. That means they'll be honest about how they're going to screw us in any deal we make."

"Essentially. And they'll shoot us in front instead of back if negotiations collapse."

The bridge door slid open at their approach. Brant sat in the captain's chair and 78 braced himself behind her. Toh sat ahead of them, his wounds packed with ceramic bandages. He was talking to Karl, who was sitting there in the only other chair in the room.

That would be Brant's chair.

"There's a lot of overlap between our theologies and yours, but that's one place where we differ," Toh was saying.

"So no afterlife at all?" Karl asked. Toh had glanced up briefly at the captain, but Karl couldn't see the door and had apparently no idea they'd entered.

"If the Shaper plans to reward the righteous in death, then he hasn't said anything about it. Righteousness is its own reward; anyone who can't see that is never going to achieve it anyway."

"Old Job couldn't have said it any better," Brant said. Karl started a little at her voice, then stood and faced them.

"Hello, captain. Commander. Uh…I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. We're managing," Brant said.

"Condolences appreciated. Mission continues," 78 said. His face glittered green very briefly; Brant doubted anyone else would have noticed, much less that anyone else would have taken it as a sign of mischief. "Side note – protocol under this command does not require crew to stand at attention when captain enters the bridge."

"Oh. Uh…thanks for telling me." Karl sat back down.

"Protocol does, however, require that you get out of my goddam chair," Brant added. Karl stood so fast he nearly tripped.

"I…I didn't realize…"

"At ease," Brant said, taking her seat. "I'll just assume you were warming it up for me. Now stay here, we're going to need you in a few minutes."

"We're approaching the hub, captain," said Toh.

"Brace for transition," she said over the intercom, realizing that everyone was in the room with her but Ahab and the prisoners.

The ship entered reality again, and without the interference of the nebula, the ship's digital telescopes came fully online for the first time in at least a week. The ship's aft display showed only the Cloud, a vast violet expanse of gas and storms. Charlotte, the colonial girl who wanted to see the vastness of the universe, couldn't help but think how beautiful it was. Captain Brant of the Federation knew that the beauty was hiding pirates, attack drones, and a whole fracking fleet of Rebel cruisers in steady pursuit.

The view from the front was much emptier. Stars by the million in the distance and one bright sun in the foreground, with any attendant planets too distant to spot immediately.

"Hub on screen," Toh said, and they zoomed in much further to a bulbous slug space station, all purple domes and antennae sticking out like quills. It looked pretty much like Brant would have expected, except for one detail. "Shaper…looks like we're late for a party."

Whether floating nearby or docked, at least a hundred fifty ships were crowded around the hub. Brant noted cargo ships, mass transit jets, and one or two luxury yachts.

Brant turned to 78. "I thought you said this place didn't see much traffic."

"Very strange…" The engi's face blinked with confused static. "Very strange. Mostly civilian craft, minimal shielding and armament...suicide to cross nebula so poorly equipped."

Karl stroked his chin a little as he studied the visual. "God, it must stink in there." He looked around at the stares of the others. "What? Little station like that, not used to much traffic, and probably a damp slug atmosphere at that – the life support systems must be straining just to provide enough air for everyone, never mind filtering it."

"Well, think pleasant-smelling thoughts, then, because we're going aboard. Toh?"

"Hailing them now, captain. How should I identify us?"

"Probably not a great idea to advertise we're Federation right off the bat, not if we're trying to see if there's a bounty on us. 8, any ideas?"

The engi whirred in thought. "Tell them we're lesser mercantile house. Federation sometimes sold decommissioned craft to houses looking for well-equipped transports." The engi glanced at Karl. "Merchant husband and wife, and eclectic alien crew."

"Uh…well, ok," Karl said, slightly confused. "I mean…I did some acting in elementary school. Let's give it a shot."

Brant nodded to Toh. "Go with it. Call us House…" She searched her mind, but only one thing came. "…Katarexis."

An audio channel opened with a crackle. A female voice, sounding bored as can be, came on over the speakers.

"Yes?" This was far enough from the usual protocol that it caught Brant off-balance. "What is it?"

"We…seek audience with the hub director," Brant said.

"We're…oh, frack my soul, here's your information. House 'Katarexis'? I have never heard of it," the voice said. Brant would guess she was talking to a zoltan. She'd never heard any other race stoop to a phrase as stupid as "frack my soul."

"No? Oh, heck," Brant said. "Big time socialites like you, I'm sure you're up on all the lesser houses. We must have made it up, then."

A long-suffering sigh came out of the speaker. "My apologies, my lady. What service can we provide for you?"

"We're here to trade for munitions and intelligence. Scan us all you like – you'll see we've got goods for trade, and then some. Or is there some backwater bumpkin convention going on, and we need an invitation?"

There was a brief pause. "Ah, indeed no, your scans check out. Ignore the crowd – refugees, mostly. I think you will find us amenable to some very agreeable commerce. You may come aboard."

"Excellent. Give us half an hour to get our ship in order." Brant closed the channel and stood. "All right – we're a scrappy, down-on-our luck merchant family with servants. Let's get a wardrobe change with that in mind, and meet at the shuttle in twenty minutes."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Toh said. He reached up to the Federation insignia affixed to his shoulder, the only ornament or clothing that he wore, and took it off. "K. I'm good."

78 clucked. "No imagination," he whirred as he turned and shuffled off the bridge.

"Captain, uh…" Karl began.

She looked him up and down. He was wearing a dirty white shirt and stained beige pants; he had a few other clothes taken from Mickelson's old belongings, but none any better than this. He could use a shave, but she didn't object to a little stubble. Besides… "Well, we're going for scrappy. You're fine."

Half an hour later, the Kestrel shuttle attached itself to the assigned docking gate, and the crew stood ready to board. Brant had swapped her uniform for nondescript trousers and blouse with a long brown coat; nothing fancy, but then a merchant family that bought used Federal craft wouldn't be fancy. She'd taken off her eye patch and put on dark glasses, in case there was someone hunting for a one-eyed captain. 78 had put on a nice sash of platinum links and covered his claws with fitted gloves of white velvet.

The airlock opened, and Brant fought off a momentary urge to wretch as a brutal smell attacked them. Thick, warm, and wet, the air stank of sweat, sewage, mildew, and an aggressively fruity antiseptic that only accented and worsened the reek. Karl gagged.

"God damn!" he said. "Yeah. Told you so."

A zoltan was approaching the airlock, walking uncertainly and glowing an ugly brownish-green. Next to the zoltan walked a heavily-armed rock and a mantis in heavily dented armor.

"You are the merchant family, then?" asked the zoltan. Again, something about the voice suggested a woman to Brant; while the species had long since abandoned sex, they had not entirely eschewed gender.

"We are the Lord and Lady Katarexis," Brant said. She patted Karl on the back affectionately. "Plus entourage."

"And, uh, who might you be?" Karl asked.

Brant looked over at 78 with a disapproving look. The engi whined quietly, then reached over and slapped Karl upside the head.

"Speak when spoken to, servitor," 78 said. He whispered none-too-quietly to Brant. "Really, dear: too indulgent with the help."

Brant rolled her eye, hidden behind her shades. "And who might you be?" she asked.

"Zaramabra, Senior Assistant to the hub director," said the zoltan, who looked thoroughly unamused by the exchange. "This way, please. Keep your weapons away, and avoid any speech or action which could be construed as aggressive. Ozzog is happy to talk to you, but the situation on the hub is somewhat brittle at the moment."

Toh and the rock bodyguard exchanged silent glares, and the mantis sized up the group.

"Very good. A question, though," 78 said. "You called this a refugee situation. If possible to ask…"

The zoltan's head swayed a bit as she looked back at 78. Brant heard a bit of a drunken slur as she spoke this time. "Can you imagine what Ozzog would do to me, master engi, if I started giving perfectly saleable information away to his clients for free? This way, if you please."

The escort led them through the corridors of the station. Armed guards patrolled regularly, and occasionally Brant caught views through open hatches of crowded tent cities filling up cargo bays. She'd expected a refugee situation, but nothing like this.

God. What had the Rebels done?

They arrived finally at a heavy blast door. The zoltan waved at a panel next to the door, and it slid open to reveal a dimly lit, richly appointed lounge. A number of well-cushioned booths lined the wall to their left, with an ornate bar carved out of hard, red fungus – the highest of high end slug carpentry. A thin white mist hung in the air around their ankles, partly to help keep the climate optimal for slugs but mostly for ambience. The air had not even a faint note of the crowds outside, instead smelling faintly of pickles for some reason.

On instinct, Brant immediately took stock of their surroundings. The only exit was through the blast door, and they were slightly outnumbered in the room. An engi stood behind the bar in an apron, cleaning a row of elegant drug pipes. Three rocks sat in an extra-large booth, designed for their race, eyeing the new arrivals suspiciously. A bearded man with small, dark glasses sat with a mantis female decked in jewelry, arguing in hushed tones over a data slate. And alone in the middle of the room sat a slug, his skin dry and wrinkled with age, swirling a hand in a small bowl of brown nutrient liquid. The bodyguards led them up to the slug's table, and the slug slowly shifted his attention up to them.

"Thank you, Mabra," said the slug. "I am Ozzog. Whom should I be addressssing?"

Brant stepped forward and extended a hand. "Ozzog, I am Elizia of House Katarexis, and this is my husband, KE-198. I hope we may arrive at some mutually beneficial trade."

"Ahhh. That would be nice. I am very old, though, and I have lost my taste for petty deceits and dissembling. You cannot possibly think a telepath would accept such a fiction."

"Of course not," Brant said. "But it did get us to the trading table with armed protection."

"Ah. Ssso it did," Ozzog said approvingly. "Mabra, some drinks for us, species appropriate, of course. Something for yourself too, yes, there's a good girl. Now how may humble Ozzog be of assisssstance?"

Brant eyed the Zoltan slouching over to the bar, but Toh was already staring her down closely. She turned back to the slug. "We are plotting a course though the Rebel cordon in the Magna Sector. We need armaments and information on their forces. We can pay richly with scrap and supplies."

"I would be delighted to help you for a modest fee, captain. Ah, bless you, Mabra." The zoltan had returned with a tray of drinks and a long, slender drug pipe. She started passing glasses to everyone but the slug. "Unfortunately, what you ask is impossible."

Brant looked around the bar suspiciously. There was only the one human, the one arguing with the mantis, but she supposed the Rebels could have struck a bargain. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Even that information will cost you," Ozzog said. "In fact, since it is clear you have been in the Cloud for quite some time and are very far out of the loop at present, I recommend you consider my flat rate intelligence package rather than negotiate piecemeal for individual scraps of information. Mabra?"

The zoltan took a data slate off the table, pushed at it, and presented it to Brant. She looked it over quizzically before handing it to 78.

"So you want food? We can do that, but these numbers…"

"I have several dozen ships docked in this hub which lack sufficient fuel, armament, or resolve to traverse the Cloud as you have, and as such we have many hundreds of refugees. There is high supply and low demand for ship equipment, but nourishment and medicine are other matters entirely. Judging by your looks, your stores are well-stocked. Shall you admit you can afford my price comfortably, or must we dicker? Oh, wait – forgive my bluntness again, but were you the ones who killed Slokkran?"

That certainly was blunt, especially for a slug. 78 and Brant looked at each other, and Karl and Toh eyed the rest of the room. The zoltan, meanwhile, inhaled deeply of the drug pipe. "Why would you ask such a thing?" Brant asked.

Mabra slowly exhaled a stream of drug vapor over Ozzog's head and torso, and the slug luxuriated in the cloud. "Ohhh my…that is nicccce. Ah….as I sssaid, I dislike dodges and vagaries, and when I asssk a question, I prefer an ansswer. But if it will facilitate an honest ressponsse: I have sscanned your ship and matched the ssignature on ssseveral of your weapons to systems that Slokkran had in his inventory. Slokkran was like a ssson to me. I mentored him. I worked with him. He had negotiated a prosperous reproductive arrangement with my daughter." Mabra blew another puff of smoke onto Ozzog's body, and the slug again wiggled with delight. Brant found it obscene in the extreme. "And now I hear that his ship was found blown to pieces in the Cloud. Did you kill him?"

"Did business with him a week ago," 78 said. "News to us that he is dead."

"Yeah, we just robbed him and left him defenseless in a bad part of space," said Brant, figuring it'd be better to err on the side of honesty rather than have the slug assume something worse or pluck the truth from her mind. "We didn't actually kill him, if that makes things better."

"I'm afraid it doess not. There is now a blood vendetta between us, and honor requires me to charge you an additional 10% on all of our transactions."

Brant narrowed her eye. "5%."

"9."

"6.5."

"7.5."

Brant gave the slug a cautious, sidelong glare. "Done," she said.

"Excellent," Ozzog declared. He reached over and tapped the data slate, and the final bill went up accordingly. Brant passed it to 78 to peruse. "Let us start fresh then. I know more about your actual identities then you may suspect, but there are gaps in what I've heard and what I can read. Forgive me – I never remember the rules of propriety with your species, but I simply must ask: are you actually screwing the engi?"

Brant smirked. 78's screen flashed slightly red at the suggestion as he passed her the slate; Brant wondered if that was a reaction native to the engi or if 78 had learned it from humans. "That information would cost you, Ozzog. Do we continue with the bargain as we've struck it, or must we dicker further?"

Ozzog laughed aloud. "Indeed! Ah, I like you, Captain Brant. Yes, yes, we have had some visitors asking after a Federation captain of your description, so your identity is not hard to surmise. We have not been notified to post any sort of bounty, and those Rebels who ask after you and your crew invariably pretend to be your comrades; they think I am an absolute idiot, I swear. I must wonder what it is you have on them to inspire such a secretive and determined manhunt, but I will not ask. I should think that your pursuers would go even so far as the Magna Sector to hunt you down."

"Why wouldn't they? The Magna Sector is all Rebels; they've used it as a staging ground for their cordon around the Federation core worlds," Brant said. Toh nudged her, and she realized that everyone in the room was staring at them now. "What? What's happened?"

"My apologies, captain. My guests are no doubt simply surprised to hear you spout such ignorance of current events. Alas that news is so hard to come by in the Cloud," Ozzog said. "The Magna Sector is abandoned."

Brant's heart leapt for a moment. That could mean hope. It could mean a hole in the Rebel blockade and a change in the Federation's fortunes. But the dozens of ship outside, the thousands crammed into this station, told her there was something more sinister afoot.

"Abandoned?" 78 asked.

"Oh I'm sure there were those who could not leave. Some of them may yet be alive. But all who could leave have left – the Rebels consolidating inward toward your beloved Federation, and civilians fleeing in any other direction. They say that, uh…" Ozzog reached across the table and gently took the data slate away.

Brant narrowed her eye. "Yes?"

Ozzog leaned across the table to Brant. She could smell the medicinal stink of drug vapor around him. "You must understand that I am a sensible trader. The sort of stories coming out of the Sector of late...if not for their consistency, their frequency, and the evidence of my own eyes, I would never stoop to pawn such old sailor nonsense off as actual news. But…they say that ancient evil has stirred in the abyss. They say that demons swim in the void, devouring ships and choking the life from innocents a mere glance. They say…"

Karl burst out laughing. Brant stood up angrily, 78 following quickly.

"Oh, no no. I will not be made a fool of," Brant threatened, shoving a finger in Ozzog's face. "If you think I'm trading good supplies for stories of space monsters, you've got another thing coming."

"Shall I lie, then? What reason for the flight of an entire sector would you find more agreeable, hm?" Ozzog asked, indignant. "Do you not think I reacted the same, the first time I heard the stories? But what can I think, when ship after terrified ship comes with the same harrowing tale on their lips?"

Toh sat utterly still. He spoke for the first time in that exchange, and even in his uninflected voice, Brant could clearly hear terror. "What…do they call this evil?"

The table of rocks in the corner turned and stared intently at Toh. The largest of them spoke. "You know what they are called, brother."

Ozzog's rock bodyguard nodded. "If you keep to scripture, then you know what is written."

"Oh, Shaper…" Toh muttered.

Mabra sipped at a tall glass of a thick, white zoltan intoxicant, a drink with the consistency of concrete. "Another hit, sir?" she asked with a more pronounced slur.

"Oh, I think it's that sort of night, yes," said Ozzog. "I've heard this sermon before. Shall you favor us with it, master rock?"

"Toh? What are they talking about?" Brant asked.

"Our scriptures…they say that a long time ago, before any of our people had learned space travel, the galaxy was ruled by the crystal folk. The Shaper and Preserver favored them more than any other creature, but they made war without end against each other. He gave them reason, and language, and the use of tools, but each blessing they used in the service of war. Finally, he gave them his greatest blessing, the secrets of the jump drive, but still they failed to find the Peaceful Way and put an end to their violence…so…he gave the keys of the cosmos over to the Breaker and Destroyer, who unlocked the nine doors of the abyss…and out of the abyss, he summoned the Lanius."

Karl was still snickering a little, but as he looked around the room and saw the looks on everyone's faces, he shut right up.

"I do not believe that," Ozzog said flatly. "I follow galactic events enough to say that we all probably deserve to be devoured by hungry avenging angels, but it pushes credulity. I fervently hope that a superior explanation for these phenomena emerges soon."

Brant…sat there. This was certainly a change in the winds, and that was about all she could augur from it. "Thoughts, 8?"

"Oh, lots," 78 said. "Not many of use. Except…Rebel presence in sector has advanced into Federation space?" Ozzog nodded. "Something troubling is happening in sector – that much is clear. But…time runs short."

Toh's eyes went wider and hotter than Brant had ever seen. Brant had a feeling she knew what was going through his head.

She turned to Ozzog. "I want to talk to some of your refugees, and I want the most up-to-date information you have. Charts, conditions, anything you have…" She swallowed, in which time she realized that every other sound in the room had gone quiet. "I don't care if it's the end of the universe and we've got to fight through demons of mythology. We're getting to Federation space, and we're getting there now."


	11. Chapter 11

Ozzog begged them to reconsider. Brant hadn't even known slugs had tear ducts, let alone the capacity to weep in response to duress, until she saw the hub director tearing up over their departure. The Kestrel, he insisted, could profit richly from the refugee situation, and without compromising their moral fiber – many at the hub would gladly offer themselves into slavery to escape into civilized space. Brant and her crew would get rich, they'd help the unfortunate, Ozzog would take a cut, everybody would win. Diving into certain oblivion was one thing; wasting an obvious opportunity for profit, quite another.

Brant immediately rejected this offer. If she ever survived to write a memoir about all this, she'd of course have to say that duty surpassed all other concerns. Really, she just knew the Rebels would quickly find her and make a nasty debris field out of her and her ship if she veered off their current course at all. Brant had no speck of doubt that the pursuing fleet would destroy them if they ever caught up and cornered the Kestrel; even monsters out of alien eschatology gave them better odds, and so they gathered intel, capped off their fuel tanks and missile stores, and entered the long jump toward the Magna Sector.

They would have thirty hours in jump between sectors. It was time to tie up loose ends.

When she and 78 strode into the medbay, the freshly-bandaged Grisham and Angel were lying on the auto-doc beds, firmly bound to the beds with manacles around their wrists and ankles. McRee was sitting at a bare table, similarly restrained against the chair and facing her comrades. Ahab sat patiently next to her with his sewing supplies and his coat. Brant sat down across from Ahab and McRee, pushing her chair out enough to see Angel and Grisham on the beds too. She laid a data slate on the table, and 78 walked over to stand by the wall.

Brant let the moment breathe. She sat and focused on her breathing, looking calmly at her prisoners. Ahab barely looked up from his sewing. 78 didn't move at all.

"Awkward silences are the worst, right?" McRee said. "It's like, is it rude for me to force meself into the quiet and try to shake it up, or is it ruder for me to jus' sit there and let the mood fester? Never had much in the way of social finesse."

"No?" asked Ahab. "I've found you quite charming."

"Oh, thank you. You hear that, Charlotte? The green one likes me," McRee said. Brant looked at her for a moment, then let her gaze drift back to her men.

"Is she being real intimidating, Mac?" Angel asked. "I can't see nothing through the bandages."

"Oh, she's being super intimidating. Not saying nothing at all. Practically soiling my britches," McRee said. "Though word to the wise, love. If you're trying to freak out your captives, engi and zoltan aren't exactly nightmare material."`

Brant brought up her data slate without looking at McRee. "I wanted to bring you folks up to speed on our situation. We just came back from the Tefinix Hub, and we are now en route to the Magna Sector. I wanted to see if any of you know anything useful about the situation there, but I'm not going to pressure you."

"Ha!" Grisham laughed before pain from his bandaged stomach cut him off with a grimace.

"Here's our intel for you," Angel said. "You're all gonna' die out there."

"Boys," McRee said somewhat sharply. "Why don't we just let me do the talking, right?"

Ahab stopped sewing to hold the mended sleeve out for inspection. "It would be droll of me to point out that if this ship is destroyed, your lives will end with it," he said.

"If this ship is destroyed, then we'll die with the satisfaction of an accomplished mission," McRee spat back. "And you've got to remember that, no matter what intel you might squeeze out of us. We've lost a lot of good men on this job already. We've got three lives left to pay to see it through to the end, and that's cheap enough.

"So yeah, Charlotte – everything you heard about the Magna Sector is true, but so much worse. The Lanius are back, and they've got tech like we can't even imagine. Nothing we do is going to matter because the old gods are back, and they're _hungry_. Or…am I only telling you that so that you'll panic and abandon your mission? That's probably it. No, yeah, the Sector's all secure, the whole Lanius thing was just mass hysteria from a few malfunctioning deep space probes and irresponsible media reporting. Getting through will be a total cakewalk, unless I'm just trying to get your guard down. In that case…"

78 slammed his claw against the table and whined at an excruciating pitch. "Enough. Patience thin."

"Oh, frack! An angry engi!" Angel shouted. "Oh, help us, Jesus! Don't let the vicious engi hit us!"

The Rebels chuckled. 78's face flashed red and orange, and Brant raised a hand at him to ease off.

"Like I said, I won't pressure you. It would be too risky to base any decisions on your hearsay. I was just curious what you might say," Brant said. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why there isn't a bounty out for us, either."

"Who said there wasn't?" McRee asked. "Who says your buddies on the hub haven't just signaled to our advance scouts and collected a hefty fee for it?"

"I don't know what route we'll be taking through the Sector, but it's the fastest way to Federation space. The Rebels don't need someone to tell them that. What they need, Lilian, is someone who can _stop _us. So why isn't there a bounty for someone to do just that?"

"Oh, I don't think you need me to tell you that, either, Charlotte," McRee said with a grin. "But I'm not sure why you'd trust my opinion there, either."

"I really wouldn't, you're right. So I won't pressure you there, either," Brant said. She tapped the slate, placed it on the table, and pushed it over to McRee. "So let's cut to the chase. Two months ago, our agents infiltrated a covert Rebel facility on the outer edge of the galaxy and stole a wealth of highly-classified intelligence. Our people only had time to transmit it to the Federation's last base in the area before getting all blown up, and Admiral Ur-Curda only had time to throw it on his fastest ship before his base got all blown up. We would be that ship, of course, and our orders, in the continuing absence of a functional Federal comm network, are to deliver this intel to Admiral Tully and the High Command."

Brant started flicking her finger across the dataslate, scrolling the screen through a variety of images – documents, blueprints, photographs, and such.

78 whirred with some pride. "Have decrypted most of it already. Not easy – Level-7 encryption, mostly. Fortunately, have had plenty of time."

Brant nodded. "It's all very sensitive stuff – detailed ship schematics, locations and staff of all research installations, the aliases and whereabouts of Rebel deep-cover agents, that sort of thing. The last bits we were able to extracts were internal affairs documents, detailed profiles of Rebel leaders with extensive evaluation of their vices, psychological hang-ups, and criminal histories. Did you know that Vice Admiral Geiss made her living smuggling psychotropic drugs before she joined the Rebellion?"

The two men smirked, and McRee chuckled. "That's what we call an open secret there, love. You may have evidence to firmly link her to the stories, but everyone assumes they're true anyway and no one gives a crap."

"Yeah, and there it is. We've decrypted almost everything we stole, and none of it's stuff you'd want our High Command to know about. But it wouldn't turn the tide at this point. The Federation can hang on for one more year, tops; it has lost all its strength outside of its core worlds, and nothing we've discovered will change that.

"And that really begs the question, Lily: Why devote a whole fleet – not a couple of specialized spy hunters, mind you, a whole fracking _fleet_ – to running down a couple of idiots in a bum ship with mostly harmless secrets?"

Brant leaned back and watched their captives. Ahab looked up curiously from his coat as a heavy silence fell over the room. Brant flipped at the dataslate a few more times, and the images and documents began to scramble.

"One data packet left," 78 said. "Level-10 encryption. Unable to break."

"One packet left. One secret. Whatever it is, your people have been willing to devote an absurd level of resources for an absurd amount of time to stop it from getting in the wrong hands. And we don't even know what it is! The hardware and personnel at our primary base might be able to decrypt it, on the off chance that we ever get there, but the only thing that would work for sure is a high-level Rebel clearance."

Brant nodded to Ahab, who calmly rose and put on his coat. The zoltan strolled over to the captives on their beds and pulled up a tray of surgical tools. "This is where we start pressuring you," he said plainly, as if to start a dull lecture.

"God damn – how much did you have to bone Andrews for this promotion, love? Because you sure didn't get it for your brains," McRee said with apparently genuine frustration. "First off, I know we're going to die soon, whether because you kill us or because someone blows this ship up, so you've lost a ton of leverage in this interrogation already. The end's in sight for us one way or the other, which is especially good news since, heck, I've barely got more clearance than a mess hall pot washer. The sort of folk that have high-level clearance don't usually get dispatched on grunt work missions like this. Mostly, ya know, to avoid exactly this sorta situation."

"Ordinarily, no doubt true," 78 said. He strode over to other side of the beds, opposite Ahab, and drew up the keyboard for the auto-doc console. "But these, strange circumstances."

"See, what we've been thinking, Lily, is that whatever secret is in that last packet, it's something huge. It was stolen it on a rumor that it's big enough to shift the war against the Rebels, even this late in the game, and the scale of the Rebel response to its theft has reinforced that belief. We think the Rebels don't put a bounty on us because they don't want to risk this secret, whatever it is, getting into anyone else's hands. I believe that all the Rebel ships they've sent out to shoot us up were ordinary rank and file, definitely, but your team was dispatched to board us and deal with us personally. It occurs to me that if they were going to send in a team like that, then there's two choices: either you can execute the whole team once they report back in, just in case they stumbled on this massive secret during their mission. Or, and I'm hoping for all our sake that this is what happened, you can send in an agent who's been cleared to handle this sort of intel." Brant tapped on the slate, and a voice identification window popped up, lines bobbing up and down as they spoke. "So any time you feel like sharing your ID and access code with us, be my guest."

McRee stared at Brant for a long moment. "Let me be clear: I don't have that kind of rank. I can't give ya' what yer asking for. If you're intent on torturing us until we unlock this stuff for you, you're going to have to torture us to death." She stared down Ahab and 78. "Come on, eh? Don't do this. I'm not going to beg you, but you guys, at least, you must be rational guys. We can't help you, and this…."

Ahab turned to McRee with a look of warmth and compassion. "Fear not, madam. We are soldiers in the service of the Federation, and even in these dark times, you need not worry for your men while they are in our care."

Without ceremony, Ahab picked a scalpel up from his tray and drove it into Grisham's stomach as hard as he could. The man bucked against his restraints, his face contorted with pain, but he did not cry out. Ahab pulled the blade out and drove it in several more times, humming idly to himself as Grisham cursed and struggled.

78 hit a key on the console, and Ahab backed away as the mechanical arms of the auto-doc swung into place, plucking the scalpel away and repairing the wounds with deft grace.

"You see?" Ahab said. "We are not monsters. No matter what absurd level of violence we inflict on them, they will survive to endure more."

McRee and Ahab stared each other down, no sound in the room except Grisham's slowly calming breaths.

Ahab sighed. "You voiced a familiar stereotype earlier, that the engi and the zoltan are the 'logical' races. I have never understood that old chestnut. Organic races always seem to think that 'evil,' such as it is, is somehow a problem of the flesh, that a life form who has ascended beyond the flesh will be a gentler, or a more rational, or in some other way a better sort of being." Ahab picked up a hypodermic needle and slid it into a bottle of rubbing alcohol, pulling the plunger back to fill it. "We were all organic once, all had to fight our way up from the primordial mud and become a planet's dominant species. There are no gentle races, madam." He slammed the needle into Grisham's arm and pushed. The man started to buck furiously against his restraints and the autodoc beeped excitedly as it started trying to treat him. "We are all apex predators out here."

78 entered a few commands at his console. The foot cushions on Angel's bed began to bend upward slightly, lifting his feet up to level with his knees before locking firmly and beeping.

"Should note, ordinarily find such treatment distasteful in extreme," 78 said. "Federal ethics codes very clear on subject of prisoner treatment, even if Justice Ministry known for turning blind eye. Have had to compromise heavily on moral parameters already – last remaining moral boundaries all the more precious as result."

His face smoldered a dark, volcanic red. He struck a key on the console, and Angel's bed beeped in warning.

"Override acknowledged," said the bed, servos whining as it lifted Angel's feet up and tried to bend his knees in the wrong direction.

Angel began to pant, his eyes going wide as a rabid dog's. "Please, please don't do this, we don't know anything!"

78 pressed a key, his face glowing a brighter red now, and the bed stopped moving. Angel's legs were straight and rigid, unable to stand any more strain. The engi bent down to Angel's face. "Her name was Katarek," he said. "Now you know something. Katarek. My friend. Killed my friend. Killed my friend." He struck the console without looking back at it, keeping his face inches from Angel's as the bed screeched back into motion. "KILLED. MY. FRIEND."

Things popped. People screamed. Brant watched, tears flowing down her otherwise blank face. All of it – grief over Katarek, horror over what she and her gentle friend had come to, hope that McRee knew something and that they could stop this, hope that McRee knew nothing and they wouldn't have to stop – all of it sloshed around in Brant's heart, and it produced no reaction more meaningful than a few tears. Certainly, at least, she did nothing to stop it.

"Yes," Brant said blankly. "You killed our friend."

Angel had lost consciousness as the autodoc got to work on his ruined legs, and Grisham was incoherent as the machines tried to filter his blood. McRee was trying to keep a brave face, but Brant saw her jaw shaking and the redness in her eyes.

"All you have to do is give us an access code," Brant said. "That's it. Then this stops."

McRee slowly, deliberately turned her gaze to Brant. She expected to see hate, and it was there. But there was also…pity.

"Yeah, we killed your friend. And nothing you can say or do will convince me we did wrong, and it's not because she was mantis. It's because she was Fed. Any time we manage to kill a Fed, I jump for joy and I thank the Lord, and if you want to know why, then look around, for God's sake. I wouldn't worry about the Lanius, captain – even if they're all the legends say and worse, the real monsters are on this ship."

A tear dropped off Brant's cheek. "I don't see it that way."

That was apparently too much for McCree. She tried to stand in indignation, but her restraints kept her seated. "You don't _see it _that way? That's all you've got to say? Just 'no, you're wrong'? Jesus God, you're…"

"The Lanius will kill us. And if they don't, the fleet behind us will. And if they don't, the blockade ahead of us will. We're all dead, and so is our government." A smirk flickered at the corners of Brant's mouth. "I see us more as the Federation's vengeful ghosts."

McRee eyed Brant cautiously. Brant saw a tiny ember of fear in her eyes.

"Oh, what? The nice aliens weren't as nice as you thought, so you thought you could appeal to my shame? To my _humanity_?" Brant said. She tried to keep her voice calm and clear, but there was a terrifying energy bubbling up out of her, and she shouted the last word. "Because you totally can! What we do to you today is going to leave me stained, dirtied, and damaged. I expect to weep in shame over it. When I die, my last thoughts might be about what I ordered done to you today and whether I'm going to go to hell for it. But I'll do it all the same. And do you want to know the _truth_, Lily?"

Brant leaned heavily, almost comically over the table. The Rebel captain tried to recoil from her, but the restraints kept McRee in place as Brant slid up to within inches of her face. "This? All this? It's not even for the Federation! There's no way we're going to make it back to Fed space alive, and they could probably decrypt it then anyway without any help from you guys! It's not even for vengeance – hell, we killed five of your guys already, Kat would think that's pretty good!"

She looked over her shoulder at 78 and Ahab. The zoltan looked mildly amused, even a little impressed. The commander blinked a confusing rainbow of emotions; she recognized fear and shame and encouragement. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring wink, to let them know this was at least partly an act, but then she realized – she only had the one eye. That insane energy came rolling out of her in hysterical chuckles, and she turned back to McRee.

"No, no, what really makes me feel like a _bitch, _Lily, is that I'm going to make you watch your men break over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, fully aware that you may not even have the right clearance, just because I'm so. Fracking. _Curious. _The last few months we've been on the run, we've lost people, we've killed people, and for _WHAT?" _Brant screamed the word and pounded the table repeatedly for emphasis. "What was it all about? What was the big secret? Would it have been worth all we've been through, all we've done, all we've had to become? Or did someone goof and it's just the Fleet Admiral's secret chili recipe?"

Brant cupped McRee's cheeks in her hands and held their faces close. "I have to know. It's not going to do us one lick of good, and it won't bring Kat back. But for all that, I have to know. And as soon as your men wake up, I'm willing to do the most depraved, the most inhuman…"

"McRee, Lilian, ID-31315!"

Brant almost wasn't sure McRee had said it, even though she was close enough that she felt the breath coming out of McRee's mouth as she said it. Then the data slate chirped a few times, and announced, "ID Accepted. Decrypting. Please ensure proper security protocols are observed."

"God have mercy on you, Charlotte Brant," McRee hissed.

Brant had gotten so far into the performance that she found it hard to get out of it now. She shook her head a little, then abruptly stood and walked back and forth nervously. They'd done it. They had it.

She suspected, as she picked up the slate, that there may be no immediate gratification. Whatever was in the packet would require hours of reading to properly digest, but she couldn't contain herself. She flicked through file directories, glanced at schematics and document headers, her eye darting about to absorb as much it could. It had to do with the flagship of Fleet Admiral Politis, the leader of the Rebellion and the military genius responsible for many of its most important victories. She could tell that much, but she could barely focus.

She waved 78 over. "Ahab, fully anesthetize and treat the prisoners. 8, what do you make of this?"

The engi walked over and peered at the slate. There was an uneasy twitching to his motions as his emotions settled down, but his face screen was blank as he stood next to her and took in the information on the slate.

"Strange…mix of capital ship schematics, experimental computing hardware, and…personal profile of Fleet Admiral? Connections implied, but…" He trailed off into muttering whistles as he kept reading, faster than Brant could follow. "Wait…wait…oh -" 78 let out a burst of excited and highly profane static.

"Well? Is it worth it?" McRee asked.

The engi lowered the slate and eyed McRee suspiciously. "Do you know about Fleet Admiral?"

"What does it say?" McRee asked dismissively, exhaustedly. "Is he a criminal? A pervert? You seem very shocked, but honestly, I could care less what the man may have done, as long as…"

"Not a man," 78 said. Brant's eyes bugged out as she saw what 78 had been reading and made the connection. Even Ahab, now at the console administering painkillers, paused and looked over.

"Not a man. Machine. Program." 78 took the slate from Brant and eyed it more closely. "AI. Leader of Human Rebellion...is an AI."


	12. Chapter 12

They'd gotten a bottle of Doohan 12-Year at the Hub. Brant considered this a good omen, as it was generally held to be one of the finest and smoothest of the dirt-cheap scotches available on the wider galactic market. Seated at the long table in the briefing room with a double on the rocks, she didn't read it as such a good omen anymore.

She took another sip and screwed up her face. "This stuff's nasty," she muttered to 78.

"Warned you," 78 said. "References on human culture all concur: scotch, very much an acquired taste." His speech was garbled and faster than usual, but that wasn't unexpected. He was mildly high on toxchips, tiny data drives containing engi intoxicant programs. As Brant understood them, they were basically computer viruses that interfered with 78's social and cognitive functions until his antivirus systems could neutralize them. They'd been developed expressly for moments like these: getting intoxicated with someone was a popular bonding experience throughout the galactic community, and the engi had devised a way to join in.

They sat in silence for a minute after that, Brant taking intermittent sips, 78 occasionally picking up a chip from the small tray in front of him and placing it on his arm to interface.

It had been an act. Mostly. She hoped. She'd worked out the game plan with Ahab and 78 before they talked to the prisoners. It had apparently been a good game plan: she'd emphasized the fact that the Kestrel was doomed and so the intel wouldn't even make a difference; that it was the men who would suffer than McRee herself; and that Brant was unstable and vicious enough to make them suffer brutally. It was seriously all an act.

Brant took another sip. The crew would join her and 78 later for a briefing on the whole situation, but they were both too shaken up at the moment. Brant had asked Ahab if he needed a breather, too, but the zoltan had just thanked her politely and gone off, whistling, to his post.

"Could offer scotch as gift to prisoners. Might…smooth things over?"

Brant cocked an eyebrow at this suggestion.

78 shrugged. "Yes…but, whole goal of Rebellion was a sovereign human state, casting off control of non-humans over human destiny. Realization that whole enterprise is controlled by non-human intelligence may have forced prisoners to reevaluate allegiance."

"Yeah, that's true. But, we also broke that guy's knees." Brant chased the memory away by gulping down the rest of the Doohan. "Ugh, God damn…no, she hates us worse than she'll ever hate this AI. I mean, could you ever work with someone who did that to me?"

78 hummed softly, and sat there nodding to himself. "Probably." He noticed the shock and hurt on Brant's face and chuckled, his laughter glitching and looping with toxchip interference. "Not joking. Would have to take most sensible course, Charlotte. Play meek and unfeeling engi. Convince enemy of my subservience, get them used to my presence. Assess vulnerabilities. Then…bide time."

"Oh, man, you've thought about this."

78 flashed red with embarrassment. "Full intoxicated confession: avenging an injury to you or coming to your rescue is occasional daydream of mine. You saved my life, after all. Dramatic repayment of debt: natural fantasy. Either slow creeping vengeance as just described, or even better, fly in on shuttle, guns blazing, slay enemies in open combat. Then we fly off, or ideally, this happens planetside and we ride off together on tall white equid."

Against her better judgment, Brant gave herself another pour of the Doohan. "Sheesh. You've _really _thought about this. Am I going to be mad when I hear what we do next in this fantasy?"

"That, as far as daydream goes. But…probably go for frozen yogurt."

Brant laughed hard at that. She punched 78 in the shoulder a little harder than she intended. "My goddam hero."

A quiet moment passed then. By the time it passed, Brant found she'd taken 8's claw in her hand and held on to it.

"When I daydream, you know what I think of?" she asked.

78 wheezed out a sigh. "Dying in blaze of glory?"

"…yeah, actually."

"Frequently imagine same. When death seems so certain, 'How to die best' becomes pressing question. Wrapping dire situation in noble, romanticized imagery has been coping strategy for me."

"Yeah. Yeah! That's it! Until we got this intel, I didn't realize how much I saw this mission as just finding the best time to make a last stand. Now it's like…damn, this really could win the war for us. We really have to find a way to pull this off…" She paused, searching for the words through the haze of scotch. "I didn't realize how much it helped to write myself off as a goner until I realized I couldn't anymore. I'm almost angry that I have to find a way to survive now. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly. Odds of survival are lower than ever, only with more pressure, fewer coping mechanisms. Still…not all bad."

Another quiet moment. They looked at each other for a long breath, their hands linked. 78 blinked bright blue, whirred, and slid another chip off his tray.

"…still have intoxicants, after all!" he chirped.

"Amen, Mr. 78!" Brant raised her glass.

A few minutes and a tiny bit more intoxication later, the briefing room door slid open, and Toh entered. The Federation-issue chairs were modular in design, and could be modified to better suit the different member races. Toh sat in one that had been broadened to accommodate his massive frame.

"How'd your research go?" Brant asked. Rock scriptures were just about the only literature with references to the Lanius, and she'd tasked him with boning up on what the texts actually said. The hope was that some sort of useful intel might be gleaned.

"Oh, great," he said flatly. "According to a close reading of the Tablets of Hof, Lanius craft have a fatal flaw in their weakness to ion weaponry. They favor heavy laser weapons and boarding with teams of four."

"Whoa – really?" Brant asked, excited.

"Frack, no," Toh said. "What did you expect? All we've got is folklore, fifteenth-hand accounts told by people who had no idea what a spaceship was. Even a lot of our faithful think the Lanius are just a metaphor, not literal demons."

"And you?" 78 asked. Ordinarily 78 was fairly sensitive about the concept of faith, but he was high now and Brant thought she could hear a sneer in his voice.

"Well…" Toh took a long moment before continuing. Brant read it as embarrassment. "See, it's complicated. In scripture, they devoured the crystal race and all their wealth because the crystals got too warlike, and they're prophesied to return for the rest of us if we can't learn peace. And here's the thing: we know there really was a crystal race from a few sites on our home world, even a tomb with one of them preserved in it. We just thought they were omens from the Shaper for our first few millennia, but once we got advanced enough, we realized it was old aliens with high tech. We expected that when we got up into space, we'd find evidence of a whole galactic civilization destroyed by war. And you know what we found?"

The strange, complete lack of evidence of older spacefaring peoples was common knowledge. "Diddly?" said Brant.

Toh nodded. "Diddly. Not one derelict ship, not one ruin, not one bit of unknown debris to be found in the whole fracking galaxy – not a single physical record of the crystals or any other elder species."

78 whirred. "Wait – wait – rock home world has preserved corpse of crystal organism?"

Brant shook her booze-addled head. That actually was pretty astonishing. This was the first hard evidence of any elder race she'd ever heard of.

"Oh, yeah. No faith required: they were real, most certainly. We might even be their descendants or their experiments or something, but testing confirms they're a different species. So where'd they go? That's what no one can figure. There's a dozen and a half ways a galactic civilization could collapse, sure, but for all their stuff to vanish? That boggles the mind. If these really are the Lanius we're facing here, then I believe the stories that they're eating ships if nothing else. It's the only explanation that rings true for me where all the elder races went."

"Hm. Can work with that, perhaps," 78 said. "Perhaps cover ship in foul-tasting coating? Some sort of old aggressive cheese, perhaps." Toh stared quietly at 78 and Brant stifled a laugh. "Joking! Joking. Predilections unknown. Coating might only make ship more delicious to Lanius palette. No. Still joking. Nevermind." 78's face screen scrambled for a moment, and he slumped forward a bit. "Erm. Too many toxchips."

The door opened again, and Ahab and Karl walked in.

"You a scotch guy, Karl?" Brant asked.

"The Fleet Admiral's a fracking _machine_?" Karl demanded.

Toh nearly fell out of his chair, his gaze shifting from Karl to Brant. "The _Fleet Admiral _is a fracking_ MACHINE_?"

Brant looked in front of her on the table, where she had a little checklist of the things they had to discuss at this meeting. She crossed off "Tell everyone the Rebel Fleet Admiral is a machine," and got down to business.

* * *

><p>There was only death there.<p>

The Kestrel phased out of jump state, and immediately klaxons blared an alert on the bridge. It was just Brant and Toh there, all other hands at their stations.

"Debris field, captain!" Toh shouted.

"_Here_?" Brant shouted back. As if in answer to her question, a soft _plink _chimed through the ship as some large piece of metal collided with the shields and bounced off. Debris at a hub, though? That was practically unheard-of. They were critical to the entire galactic community, and the countless pacts and treaties protecting them had to be respected for at least one reason: every major power in the galaxy would come after you if you damaged one.

The initial scans started coming in, popping up as holo-images in front of Brant.

"Christ almighty…" Brant whispered.

It was a graveyard. A dozen, two dozen, three dozen ships, drifting lifeless in the space around the hub. Freighters, civilian ships, light warships, all of various design and markings. Even after the Rebels moved in, there had been a lot of diversity in the Magna Sector, including some zoltan heritage sites, a lesser engi hive, a few interspecies colonies. And all that diversity was reflected in the wrecks around them.

Ozzog was right: there had still been a few people left alive in the sector. It looked like they'd made a run for it. And they hadn't made it.

Brant had seen her share of ship wreckage in her day, of course. But…this was a lot of dead ships at a site that was supposed to be a sanctuary. She felt chills.

"Charge engines to get us the frack out of here," she said through intercom to 78.

"If I may, captain, I don't think there's reason for undue concern," Ahab keyed in. Another _plink_ against the shields.

"If I crap my pants at the thought of the things that did this, I'd hardly call that _undue _concern," Brant said.

"I surmise we're looking at the fleet that did this," Ahab said. "Look at the Torus wreckage…yes, note the scar running up its side, how it starts at a uniform shallowness and then suddenly deepens? It pierced shields enough to knock them out, then ran unhindered up the hull. If I didn't find gambling degenerate and wasteful, I'd bet my coat that that a standard-model Halberd did that."

Brant magnified the image of the Torus, and found herself agreeing with the assessment.

"And ah – the Judicator over there has a Halberd!" Ahab declared.

"And it's peppered randomly with laser bursts, like from that Torus's attack drones…" Brant trailed off.

Karl keyed in. "_I DON'T GET IT. I…" _

Brant cringed and snatched her earpiece out. She saw Toh spasm in his seat. She shook her head and held the piece a few inches from here ear.

"Karl, turn your goddam volume down!" Toh shouted.

There was static over the line as Karl fiddled with his earpiece. "Sorry, still getting used to this thing…uh, I don't get it. Why fight each other this close to escape?"

"This is a low-traffic hub, only able to accommodate a few ships a day," Brant explained. "And when you force heavily-armed people to stand in line in high-stress situations…"

"…ah," Karl said. "Yeah, I think I get it now. How does that change the plan from 'get the hell out of here,' though? A debris field's a pretty dangerous place to hang around, with or without apocalypse demons."

Another _plink _against the shield, as if in agreement.

"Right you are, and your top priority is still getting that engine ready to jump as soon as it's able. But we can hold out here for a while, and we've got to make the most of it…" Brant entered some commands into her chair console, and began scanning through the wrecks around her to see if any still had life signs. She didn't expect any: this had most likely been a desperate fight to get out of the sector quickly, and any survivors would have made repairs or crowded into shuttles and done just that. She was so sure of this assumption, in fact, that she almost missed the one little blip that did come up.

_Plink, plink. _An alert sounded; shields were down.

Brant cursed. "Brace for impact! And can we please try not to hit _every fracking piece of…_"

The ship rocked as Toh took it through some drastic maneuvers. The grav compensators kept everyone from becoming stains on the wall as the Kestrel careened about and made sudden changes at thousands of kilometers an hour, but they weren't perfect.

"You want to take over, captain?" Toh asked. He remained focused completely on his piloting, but Brant could hear the frustration in his voice. A second later, the shields regenerated and Brant breathed in. She double-checked the life signs she'd detected and thought the situation over.

"8, take a look at that freighter. Am I seeing this wrong, or is there a survivor over there?"

The commander didn't need to think it over. "Most certainly. Signs are synthetic, and atypical. Assessment: wounded engi."

Brant nodded. She pressed a button on her chair to open a hailing frequency. "Attention, freighter – this is the Aquila-4 of the Galactic Federation. If you require aid, we can assist you in evacuating this space. Please respond."

_Plink_.

"Oh, Shaper's balls…" Toh muttered.

Nothing from the ship. Brant drummed her fingers against her chair, then stood and started walking off the bridge.

"No answer. Its shields and life support are still active, but that ship is dead in the water. Might have comm troubles. New plan. 8, keep hailing them and see if they respond. Toh and Karl, keep us out of the way of this debris. Ahab, hit the tractor beam and grab whatever worthwhile scrap you can from this field."

"Have bad feeling where you're going with this," the commander said over the line.

Brant broke into a jog down the corridor. "I'm going over there."

"Bad feeling: justified!" 78 squealed. "Requesting permission to board with you, or instead of you! Fellow engi might…

"Denied. The transport can only handle two, and I need you on shields."

Ahab chimed in. "I'm inclined to agree with the commander, captain. The risk seems hard to justify just to save one unknown sailor."

"If you've got a more reliable source on what the Lanius are capable of, I'd love to hear it," Brant shot back. "All those refugees we talked to had cleared out before these things had become much more than rumors. Our guy over there has survived longer in the sector, and we may not have another chance to learn what we're actually up against. That justification enough?"

Ahab sighed. "Roger. But I would still rather get out of here as soon as possible."

"No argument there. Beam me back as soon as possible, whether I've got this guy or not." Brant looked at her wrist unit and checked the readings. It looked like the engines would be ready in five minutes. The transporter would need eight to recharge. She'd consider them lucky if the ship even made it five minutes without taking damage from all this debris, and that could quickly turn ugly if their shields or engines got banged up.

As she stepped into the transporter room, she swiped a few commands into her wrist unit. "Transferring power from beam cannon to transporter," she called out to the crew. That would shave a few minutes off the recharge time. They'd also be at a disadvantage in a fight, but the scans had been pretty conclusive that no functional ships were in the area.

Beam in, find the engi, beam out. Be out of this sector in five minutes. That was the plan.

_Plink_, _plink_.

"…well, it's not getting any safer," she said to herself, and she stepped onto the teleporter.

Brant checked their sensors. The survivor aboard the freighter was slowly on the move, and had just entered what seemed to be one of the cargo holds. She targeted the transporter for the corridor he'd just left, hoping to avoid getting a belly full of plasma; even if this was an engi, it was a needless risk to appear out of nowhere and open herself to startled gunfire.

"Transporting in three…two…" she said to her crew.

"…one," and she activated the teleporter. And everything went straight to hell.

"Captain, we've got a…!" Toh shouted.

Brant's breath hitched and her mind reeled, but she had no time for any thought more coherent than "Of fracking course" before everything became light and haze.

She materialized a second later into near darkness, the steely corridor lit only by the orange emergency lighting. She lost the signal from Toh, but an alarm blared in her earpiece. She breathed in and out, and a primitive part of her brain screamed the same warning that she saw now on her wrist console: there was atmosphere in here, but almost no oxygen.

She took that primitive part of her brain and clapped her hand over its mouth. Panic would speed up her breathing, and in this atmosphere that would kill her. What was happening? The sensors hadn't indicated any hull breaches, and the life support systems were functioning. But the air was bad, this was bad, this was _very fracking bad_, she…

She calmly approached the closest door and opened it, and the gust of air that blew out felt better on her face at that moment than any lover's caress ever had done. She strode in to the adjoining room, a mess hall by the look of it, and sealed the hatch behind her.

_Something weird with the life support system, _she thought. _Sabotaged, maybe. Or they powered them down temporarily and weren't able to turn them on again. _There weren't a lot of reasons why a ship with undamaged life support would have a dead atmosphere. Was the engi just running from one room that still had oxygen to another, then?

A great _PLONK _echoed through the ship. This was a commercial craft; chances were, its shields were specialized for exactly this kind of situation, and would be nearly worthless in combat. Hopefully, that meant the freighter was safe for at least the next five minutes.

Next problem. "Toh, I lost you in transit. Report."

"We've got a…oh, Shaper…" Toh never let emotion into his voice. This was bad. "…oh, Shaper and Preserver, I didn't actually think…"

"Ship consistent with refugee reports has decloaked," 78 said, calmly but quickly.

Her breath caught in her lungs. It had nothing to do with the atmosphere. "Are you saying…?"

"Get the hell out of there, Charlotte!" the commander screeched.

Uncertainties clouded her mind, but she was truly menaced by what she already knew: these things had shown themselves right after the Kestrel depowered its weapons. That made perfect, terrible sense to her.

They could hope these things came in peace, or try to bluster them off. But if these things got to open fire first, Brant had a bad feeling there'd be no chance for retaliation.

"Divert _something _back to the beam cannon and get ready for a fight. Don't shoot unless they fire first, or…unless the debris field knocks out their shields and gives you an opening," she said.

"I've got to stop talking. Oxygen is busted over here, gotta' conserve. 78, you're in command until I'm back aboard. And Toh?"

A pause. "Captain?"

"I want you to repeat after me: at least it's not the spiders again."

She heard him breathe in and out slowly. "At least it's the not spiders again."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but she'd have to take it. They still had four minutes before they'd be able to jump, five minutes before she'd be able to beam out. All she really wanted to do was hunker down here and watch the data coming in and direct the fight if it went down, but she wasn't sure how much good air there was in here, and there was still the matter of rescuing the engi. If nothing else, the freighter had a transport beam of its own, but she'd need the access codes from a crewman to use it. The Kestrel's sensors were now directed at the unknown craft, so she'd have to find this guy on her own.

She opened the door and walked back into the corridor. The air actually seemed breathable in here now; maybe the oxygen system was failing, but not completely busted. It was confusing, but hopefully she'd be gone before she had to care. She inched up to the cargo bay door and put her ear against it. Something was scuffling around and making some noise. Good – the engi was still in there. She shouted into the closed hatch:

"Hello? I mean you no harm. I'm a Federation captain; we can see you're in distress, and you didn't respond to our hails. I'm here to help."

She held her ear to the door again, and heard…nothing. Whatever was in there went still.

"Enemy shields have taken several nasty hits from debris. We might get that opening soon," Ahab said just a little hungrily.

"Own shields at fifty per…make that twenty-five percent," 78 said.

Brant cupped her hands again. "I'm coming in! We've got to go right now!"

She opened the hatch to the cargo bay, and the emergency lighting wasn't nearly enough to light up the room. The yawning, open room was nothing but a haze of shadows and dim lights to show where the walls were, and...

…a door on the other side of the room hissed open. Brant only caught a glimpse of a shadow scuttling out of it before it slammed shut again.

"Oh God damn it," she muttered. She must have spooked him. She didn't exactly _want _to chase a frightened cyborg around a derelict ship with crap oxygen while her crew tried to sucker-punch hungry demon-aliens, but as ever, she had to play the hand she was dealt. Besides, this guy could get her out of here faster, and he might still have valuable intelligence. And blah blah blah the right thing to do, too.

She ran into the cargo bay. "Come on, guy! This is a rescue mission! For what it's worth, engi slaves aren't even valuable enough to justify the…"

She almost fainted. Her breaths became ragged and desperate. The air in the cargo bay was all inert gas, no oxygen. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she'd gone running off after the engi without checking, and she was nearly at the door on the far side of the room before her lungs or wrist unit had figured out something was wrong. She stumbled up to the door, amazed how quickly a few breaths of this dead air had winded her and pretty sure she didn't have enough oxygen in her blood to get herself back to the corridor she'd left. She opened the door ahead of her and jumped through, sealing it behind her and praying that the air she was breathing now had some O2 in it.

"Three minutes on jump!" 78 said. "Four on tran-" A loud blast interrupted him. Something had hit the ship.

The air was thin but breathable. She looked at the system readout on her wrist console. A shape moved at the far end of the corridor. What was going on with the life support? They'd just taken a direct hit to shields, a door closed at the far end of the corridor, their shields were out and 8 might be dead and the Lanius had come.._._

Brant slapped herself. "8, report," she said.

The channel opened again, and she could only here alarms and the hiss of the vacuum. "Alive. Hull breached, shields damaged. Repairing."

She wanted to strangle Toh. She knew, of course, that without his deft piloting and Karl's help they would never have lasted even this long in the field, but her anger needed someplace to go, especially when another piece of debris struck the ship a few seconds later. Brant breathed a sigh of relief as she saw it hadn't done any more damage to shields, or to their weapons or engines.

Then she saw.

78 came on. "Charlotte…"

The teleporter was down.

"Don't even think about it," she hissed. "Without shields you're all dead. I can catch a ride out of here, but I need a ship to go back to."

She focused on the door at the end of the corridor, the one that had just shut. Why weren't the Lanius firing yet? Or…was this their attack? Was the bombardment of debris not as random as it seemed? Who knew what a race of ancient legend was capable of? No, there was no point to those questions right now. She had to focus. This survivor might well be her only ticket out of here, and she jogged after him.

He was clearly agitated, perhaps paranoid, and she had no time for an extended chase. She didn't announce herself this time, just opening the hatch and stepping through slowly. It was very dark in here, too, only those same dim orange emergency lights ringing the chamber, but they provided enough light in this small space to reveal the beds, shelves, and footlockers of crew quarters.

There was no one in here. She looked ahead, and saw an open door at the end of the quarters, but the lights had failed in whatever room was beyond it. The open hatch was a rectangle of black space.

"Shields just…about…" 78 said. A squeal of static cut him off. Brant glanced at her unit, but it had lost connection to the craft. The sensors must have been hit, knocking out short-range communication. Well, at least it told it her that the air in here was good.

She walked slowly into the quarters, staring into the shadows of the next room. She heard shuffling in there, saw the dim lights around her reflect on some shape moving in there. She held her hands up to show she wasn't coming for a fight, but thought keenly of the baton and sidearm on her belt. "OK – can we talk now? I didn't mean to trap you, but it looks like we've got to rescue each other now."

The door shut behind her, and she didn't walk much further into the chamber. She didn't want to corner this guy, but she didn't want him escaping, either.

The movement stopped in the next room. Brant moved cautiously forward.

"That's it. I'm here to help you, and I need…"

Something moved, and two red eyes stared back at her out of the darkness.

That was no engi.

"…oh, God."

The thing in the next room crossed the doorway and came into the half-light. It was tall, and its body bristled with sharp metallic edges and points. The eyes glowed red, but they held her in a stare as cold and ancient as the void.

And without a pause, without a sound, it charged at her.

Brant drew her weapons and opened fire, getting a grazing shot on the thing's shoulder; the metal there did seem to fragment, but the thing did not stagger or cry out. It closed with her and dodged her baton, then grabbed it just above the handle before she could swing it again. She tried to pry it loose, but the thing's talons had _melted_ against the metal of her weapon and fused the baton to itself. Brant let the baton go and tried to raise her sidearm, but the thing swatted it away.

And Charlotte Brant, unarmed and alone, hit the space monster in the face with her best left hook. It was like punching a steel bucket, but the thing reeled back. She hit it with a flurry of jabs as she closed, then kneed it in the abdomen. She couldn't tell exactly if she was hurting it, but certainly she was surprising it…

One of her strikes went wide, and her vision reeled. She stumbled and couldn't catch her feet. Her lungs burned. The alarm sounded in her ear: no oxygen. But…but she'd checked. That wasn't fair. She'd…

She tried to stand, tried to face the thing that was bearing down on her again, but she stumbled again. She tried to control her breathing, but she'd exerted herself too much and now her breaths were ragged, drowning gasps.

The thing's claws came down over her face, and everything went dark.


End file.
